Starless Nights
by Mrs. Morzansson
Summary: Sequel to GI. There's a new king of Alagaesia. Dealing with the typical problems of parenting mixed with the job of ruling, his life is extremely hectic. But what's worst is that a band of Galby's old... full summary inside
1. Cigars

**A/N: **Hey. Yeah, yeah. So the prologue was short! And thanks to those who reviewed! Really, thanks a lot! Me appreciates it!! Okay, so here is the ACTUAL first chapter. Please bear with me on the descriptions and don't skip over them.

**Warning: drug references**

* * *

**Chapter 1- Cigars**

Nasuada lay sprawled on the floor, dead. Her head was lolled to the side, and her ebony skin glittered in the candlelight. All in all, she was flat out deceased.

At least to her kids.

Ten year-old AJ and two year-old Rosie held hands and circled around their mother's corpse. As if they were conducting an ancient ritual, the two chanted, "Mommy, mommy, come alive. Mommy, mommy, come alive. Mommy, mommy, come alive!"

Nasuada's eyes shot wide open, manic appearing. She snapped into the sitting position and shook her outstretched arms. "Rawr!"

AJ, trying to look bored, bit his cheek so he wouldn't smile, while his baby sister squealed excitedly and ran out of their mother's room and into the long hallway, her chubby baby legs toddling along.

Nasuada stood up and grinned menacingly as she saw her son.

"Shoot," muttered AJ, his voice cracking. "Rosie, baby, wait for me!" He dashed out of his mother's sight.

Nasuada stomped like a zombie down through the hallway, chuckling inwardly as she clutched onto her giggling baby girl.

Rosie tried to escape her mother's fingers, but she failed and lay limp in Nasuada's hands, giggling hysterically, her adrenaline rush subsiding. "Mommy! No fair! You suppose to get AJ!"

Nasuada chuckled wholeheartedly. "I caught you! You're the dead mommy now, Rosie."

"Dead Mommy," as the game was obviously called, was something AJ had made up when he was just a little older than Rosie's current age.

Rosie smiled excitedly and lay on the floor spread-eagled, closing her eyes and sticking out her tiny tongue. Everything about her was tiny, despite the fact she was tall for her age.

"AJ!" hollered Nasuada down the hall. "I've caught Rosie! Get your ass down here!"

Rosie's eyes grew wide. "Mommy said a bad word."

"Yes, well, daddy says bad words all the time," said Nasuada.

AJ jogged to his family and held hands with his mother, surrounding Rosie's baby body.

"Mommy, mommy, come alive. Mommy, mommy, come alive. Mommy, mommy come alive!"

Rosie reenacted Nasuada's previous actions, and AJ let himself be tagged. He lay down on the floor, his eyes closed.

"Haha," teased Nasuada lovingly. "AJ's a girl now! He's a mommy!"

"Shut up," barked AJ, though he was grinning at his mother's mocking.

Rosie started giggling again, and the game began anew, but just as AJ stood up to tag his mother, footsteps echoed down the bright hall. All three pricked their ears.

"Daddy's here!" cried Rosy. She toddled over to her father as fast as her little legs and cloth diaper would allow her. "Daddy! Daddy!"

AJ strutted up to his father coolly.

"Hey, baby, how are you today?" asked Murtagh to his youngest. His eyes were tired; purplish-blue bags marred his pale face. He had been downstairs on a meeting the whole morning and afternoon. No one knew yet what the gathering was about, other than the people who attended it. Murtagh scooped up his toddler and hugged her, resting her on what would be a hip if men had any.

"Hey, dad," said AJ, smiling.

"Hi, AJ. How long have you been awake?"

"Since about seven-thirty," responded the preteen. "Pretty boring day, what with Arflin in Dras Leona and Garrow in the market."

Murtagh frowned. "Why didn't you go browse the shops with your cousin? I'm sure he wouldn't mind; you two are close."

AJ shrugged. "I'm feeling lazy today."

"Ah," chuckled Murtagh. "I see." He ruffled his son's buzz cut black hair and examined the boy.

Ajihad, or AJ for short, seemed to be growing everyday. He was tall for his age, just like Rosie, and lanky, just like Murtagh was as a preteen. He had his mother's hair, though he didn't have much of it; he preferred his hair short and out of his eyes. His skin was a mixture of Nasuada's and Murtagh's: dark but not ebony, but in fact much, much lighter. The exact shade of light brown in between his parent's skin tones. He inherited Nasuada's fine, petite nose, Murtagh's thin lips, and his beautiful white smile. Though Nasuada was dominant in his facial features, he had Murtagh's mulish personality and expressions.

Rosie, on the other hand, was the spitting image of her father. Her skin was not nearly as pale, but it appeared as if she had a constant, smooth tan. Her olive skinned glowed, and Murtagh already knew that fourteen years in the future he would be knocking quite a few boys' heads.

"Rough day?" asked Nasuada as she meandered to her husband and gave him a quick kiss and a hug, squishing Rosie in the process, who was clinging to her father. She was longer as flat from breastfeeding, and her hips had become somewhat larger. Murtagh did not mind; in fact, he rather liked it.

"Not rough, just exhausting," replied Murtagh with a yawn. "They wondered why you weren't there today."

"I know, but I couldn't leave the kids again for countless hours down in the meeting room." She smiled sweetly, her eyes as worn out as her husband's. "I was suffering from love deprivation."

Murtagh smirked. "Love deprivation? Well, I understand. I told them you had a raging headache, and you couldn't get out of bed, but judging by the noise and roughhousing you hoodlums are causing-" he eyed his children in mock accusation, "-I say the alibi wasn't believed."

"No," laughed Nasuada. "Probably not. We were playing Dead Mommy."

"Ah, yes, that one," said Murtagh. "Which game is that again?"

Nasuada sighed. "Spend more time with your kids, Price Tag. They're starting to miss you."

Murtagh's expression immediately turned ashamed. "I'm sorry. I try, you know that, but work…"

"I know, Murtagh. I know. I'm the queen, remember? I work too. Yet I manage to bond with my children a great deal anyways." Murtagh nodded, knowing it best not to argue in such situations.

"Hey, dad?" prodded AJ suddenly.

"Yes, son?"

"Can I have some money to go to the market and meet Garrow?"

Murtagh stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled out some spare gold. "Here, this should be plenty."

AJ's eyes lit up, the greedy thing. Always trying to scandal his old man out of some extra change. He dashed down the stairs of their palace's top floor (the floor in which the royal family lived upon; no business was aloud to be negotiated up there, nor were other people other than the royal family themselves permitted unless permission had been given by the king or queen.) He continued to spiral down two stories until he was on the first of three layers in the palace by the sea.

The palace was quite beautiful, nestled right by the gentle waves and green water of the Beirland Sea. The exterior was a marble blue, but so many windows - Nasuada's doing - cut through the walls that there was hardly any wall left. Light filtered through every possible nook and cranny, other than the meeting room and similar places that needed to remain windowless, soundproof, and confidential. The elves, dwarves, and humans that resided in the nearby villages of Belatona, Feinster, Dauth (though it was in Surda,) and Melian flocked to Arough, the new capital by the water, just to view the castle, or better known as the "Glass Palace." The name came from the fact there were more glass skylight than there was marble wall. They hoped they could catch a little glimpse of movement through the glass, to hopefully see a royal family member attending their daily business.

Rosie, her fat baby arms still wrapped around her father's neck, huffed as her mother embraced her father tightly again, only this time Nasuada did not let go for a few moments. "Momma!" she gasped. "I can't breathe!"

"Sorry, baby," chuckled Nasuada, kissing her daughter's chubby cheek. "You wanted to be held by daddy, so you must suffer the consequences."

Rosie glared at her mother and screwed up her face in a pout. "I want daddy to play Dead Mommy with us!"

"But baby," muttered Murtagh. "I don't know how."

"I show you!" jumped Rosie happily. She grinned and tugged at her father's hair. "I show you!"

"Later, hun," said Nasuada. She held out her arms and transferred Rosie from Murtagh's hip to her fuller one. It was immensely easier for a baby to sit on their mother's hip than their father's, simply because of the way women were built. "Tag, have Rochelle go to Arough's market and pick up a few groceries." An idea struck her. "Actually, how about you go? Bond with your son a little!"

Murtagh tapped his foot, The look on his wife's face was kind, as if she was only _suggesting _that he should go to the market. But he knew his wife better than that. Nasuada made no _suggestions_.

"Fine, I'll go. What do you need to pick up?"

"Five mangos, one head of cabbage, a pound of carrots, three onions, a few pineapples, -and make sure they're _ripe_, Murtagh- some paprika, salt, pepper, cloth diapers, and a few other things the main kitchen out of." She handed him two lists: the one the head cook had given her the previous morning, and the list of personal items for the family, such as diapers, soap, etc.

Murtagh gaped at the lists. "Bloody hell! I…um…"

Nasuada arched an eyebrow. "Do you want Rochelle to go with you?"

"I…uh…yes."

* * *

"I'll take the lists, deary," said Rochelle. Although they had always been close, a special bond developed between Murtagh, Rochelle, and Roran ever since she healed Murtagh down in the torture chambers that fateful day.

"Thanks, Shelly," gasped Murtagh in relief, still staring open mouthed at the countless items jotted down on the parchment. He shoved the paper to her and handed her his coin purse, which was plenty of money to buy the whole damn market.

"Go find AJ, your majest- I mean, Price Tag."

Murtagh smiled. Neither he or Nasuada wore their crowns unless on special occasions. They wore typical attire, even if their clothes were somewhat nicer than the average peasant. They only garbed themselves in the exceptionally expensive clothing when it was necessary for appearances. Thus, they did not stand out as the celebrities they were in Alagaesia. Most of the city of Arough recognized them anyways, but most Aroughians didn't care much, for they saw their king so often it was second nature to them to treat him like any other person (when he wore regular clothes.)

"I wonder if AJ has found Garrow yet," thought Murtagh aloud.

Rochelle shrugged. "Probably not. Arough is packed today."

* * *

AJ stumbled through the city, desperately trying to escape the cluster of bodies in the overflowing market. Tourists (mostly bumbling humans) polluted the stalls, coming to see the Glass Palace, most likely: Nasuada's architectural masterpiece that somehow ended up a world monument. It always surprised AJ that the Aroughians did not care about the hundreds of tourists. In fact, the small city seemed somewhat proud. Who would have thought such a tiny town would have come so prosperous?

AJ, feeling somewhat claustrophobic, slipped into a dark, empty alleyway. It was long and narrow, unnoticed by the countless civilians swarming the streets. AJ, grateful for the spacious release, stalked farther and farther into its depths. _Where is Garrow?_ He continued walking, but he halted as he saw three stooped figures huddled together about five feet in front of him.

The three, obviously young dwarves, were muttering under their breath and passing a small box around. One of them noticed AJ, and he alerted his buddies.

AJ stood there, terrified. The looks on the dwarves faces were menacingly warm. The three strutted up to him.

"Hey," greeted the center dwarf, who was obviously the leader. "Who are you?"

"A…J," stuttered AJ.

"AJ, eh? That short for something?"

"Er…yes, Ajihad."

The dwarf's eyes lit up at the name. "You're Murtagh's boy, aren't you?"

"Yes," mumbled AJ.

All three dwarves had a dangerously charming glint in their eyes.

"What are you doing in the market, boy?" asked the leading dwarf.

"Looking for my cousin," said AJ, gaining confidence by the moment. "I am searching for Garrow Roransson."

"You're cousin, eh? Does he protect you?"

"He's younger than me," barked AJ, clearly offended.

"Woah, woah, no need to take the defensive. Tell me, AJ, have you ever heard of cigars?"

"Cigars?" said AJ, interested. "It rings a bell. What are they?"

The dwarves grinned. They found a perspective buyer. A _rich_ perspective buyer. "The most delicious things in the world." The dwarf flanking the leader on the right handed his buddy the silhouette of a box. The main dwarf lifted off the lid, and revealed the contents - five large brown cigars - to AJ.

AJ reached for them, but the dwarf withdrew the box jestingly. "You want them?" he cooed.

AJ nodded.

"They're not free, boy. They come with a price." The dwarf smirked greedily.

AJ pursed his thin lips. "How much?"

The dwarf tapped his lip. "15 crowns."

"Bloody hell! 15 crowns! What are you, insane?"

"15 crowns or no deal." The dwarf examined AJ thoughtfully. "Like I said, all the fashionable kids smoke these things. 15 or no deal."

AJ frowned. This guy was probably taken advantage of the fact he was unbelievably wealthy. But then, he wanted to blend in. He stuffed his hand in his trousers and pulled out 15 golden crowns and handed them over.

"Thank'ee." The dwarf handed AJ the cigars and demonstrated how to use them. "You just suck and puff, like I showed you. But don't breathe too long, you'll choke. And don't let your daddy see, all right? He might get jealous and want all the fun for himself."

AJ took the cigars out of the box, tucked them into his tunic, dumped the box, thanked the dwarf, and casually walked out of the alleyway.

"Sucker," laughed the lead dwarf.

"Hey," said the dwarf on his left. "Don't you think when King Murtagh discovers who sold the kid the junk he'll personally beat the shit out of us?"

The leading dwarf shrugged. "He won't be able to find us. It was too dark; the kid couldn't make out our characteristics, and there are plenty of dwarves in Arough. We'll do fine."

* * *

AJ struggled through the mass of people, trying to find his cousin. He kept in mind what the dwarf said about keeping the cigars a secret, and a suspicion stirred within him. After hours of searching, he ran into Murtagh.

"AJ!" exclaimed his father. "I have been looking all over for you."

"Hi, dad," said AJ. "Why have you been searching for me?"

Murtagh shrugged. "Just wondering where you were, that's all."

AJ's face darkened. "Dad, I am not a little kid anymore!"

Murtagh frowned. "I never said you were, AJ. Lighten up, okay son? Now, do you want to get a bite to eat?"

"Sure." They scooted their way through the endless people until they squeezed into a line for freshly plucked cherries. After about ten minutes, they purchased their fruit and headed to Rochelle.

Poor Rochelle was overwhelmed by the massive list Nasuada had given her. "Why did you send me?" she snapped. "Do you not have people you _pay_ to get your groceries!"

Murtagh shifted in false guilt. "I'm sorry, Shelly. I'll tell Nasuada you are strictly the nanny."

Rochelle's round face and brown hair were damp with a thin sheet of sweat as she carried the heavy load from the vegetable stall.

"Here," said Murtagh. "AJ and I will take those. We'll bring them to the palace."

"Thanks," breathed Rochelle.

Murtagh nodded, and AJ smiled sweetly. "Bye, Shelly," chimed the youngest.

"Bye, hun," said Rochelle.

Murtagh and AJ stumbled to the castle surrounded by a grassy yard, accidentally releasing a few pieces of food along the way. "Just leave them," groaned Murtagh.

Alas, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived in the palace's main kitchen.

Gaylord, the head cook, grinned widely in relief as the two men tossed their cargo onto a nearby white countertop. "Thank-you, your highnesses." He bowed.

"Damn, Gaylord, how many times have we told you people not to bow to us?"

Gaylord bowed again. "At least twenty times, sire."

"Then why do you insist on doing so?"

Gaylord stared at the floor. "Forgive me, sire."

Murtagh shrugged nonchalantly. "I shall allow it this time, but if you do it again, I'll have your head!" he said jokingly.

The problem with being a king, however, was that everything you said was taken seriously.

Gaylord's eyes grew wide.

Murtagh chuckled slightly. "I was only kidding, Gaylord. I do not mind if you bow."

Gaylord grinned nervously. "Thank-you, milord."

Murtagh sighed and headed to the third floor, beckoning AJ to follow suit. The two walked up to the family area of the castle. "So how has your day been?" asked Murtagh as he pounced onto the couch, kicking his feet up as he leaning back. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

"Okay, I guess. Everyone I know has been busy all week."

"Everyone? You know many people, AJ."

"I know," huffed the son. "But I'm still too lazy to do anything today."

"How is your swordplay coming?"

"…Okay."

Murtagh's eyes shot up as he heard AJ's tone of voice. He turned his neck to see his son slumped on the loveseat, his face depressed.

"What do you mean, 'all right?' Your sword master told me you were developing beautifully and remarkably quick!"

AJ's lips twitched some. "Yes," he sighed. "But I'll never be as good as you, dad. You are amazing."

Murtagh studied his son for a slight moment. "You know something, son? When I was your age all I cared about was pulling pranks. I couldn't use a weapon properly if my life depended on it."

AJ gazed at his father, a ray of hope in his eyes. "Really?"

"Really. I think I was about eleven when I started fencing. Then I hit the age where all I cared about was women. Tornac, my old instructor, could never keep my attention. I was too busy imagining who I would snog next."

AJ, surprisingly, laughed. "You were like that? I never would have guessed."

"It's was only for a few months; dueling was always where my true love stood. I just never understood that until I learnt more complex moves, and by that time I was so preoccupied by my fencing lessons that I completely forgot about women."

AJ arched an eyebrow. "What about mom? She caught your eye."

"Took a bloody long time and the interference of my little brother before we ever admitted anything. Well, I suppose my brother didn't have anything to do with it…" He trailed off, lost in thought.

"Hold on," shot AJ. "You have a brother? I thought I didn't have any extended family other than Roran and my cousins."

Murtagh stared at the floor. Did he just let slip that he had a blood brother? Yes, he did. Why had he brought this upon himself! He hated mentioning Eragon. _Hated_ it. What was he thinking? Of _course_ AJ wouldn't remember Eragon! He moved away to some forsaken land with his elf girl six years ago, leaving not only his family heartbroken but also Thorn.

Poor Thorn. He was madly in love with Saphira. They were inseparable. The ruby dragon could never stop thinking about her. So, naturally, they mated.

Saphira lay a navy egg, which still refused to hatch to this day. She became pregnant with a second egg, but she left with Eragon across the sea before she could bear it. Thorn had never seen his second child, nor did he know whether it was still incased in its egg or not.

Murtagh was bitter about Eragon's departure. He had stabbed so many hearts the day he abandoned them, and Saphira went with him, of course.

Thorn, six years later, still held a love for her and a deep, hidden depression for the lack of her presence.

Murtagh sighed. Why not tell the boy the truth? He had a right to know if he had an uncle. "Yes, AJ, I have a brother, but I prefer not to talk about him."

"Why?" inquired the child, who, in his eagerness to hear his father's tale, had deserted the loveseat and now sat on his old man's legs. "Did you two get in a fight?"

"No," muttered Murtagh. "He just… he left, and it made everyone really… upset."

"How upset?"

"Really upset, AJ. I don't know how to explain it. An unusual misery. Picture your mother's funeral. How would you feel, knowing you would never see her again?"

AJ imagined the circumstance, and his eyes grew glassy. "Terrible."

"Well, that's what it felt like, " said Murtagh briskly. "Anyway, he left, everyone grew sad, but by now most have recovered, and that is the end of it."

"What was his name?" asked AJ.

Murtagh's gaze grew distant and unfocused. "Eragon," he said, thinking back on the times he spent with the boy. "Eragon Shadeslayer."

AJ gaped. "The Great Shadeslayer is my… uncle?"

Murtagh nodded. "He and Princess Arya sailed away into the sunset, six years ago. Now, can we not talk about him, please?" He made a motion to stand up. "If you need me, I'll be in the Dragon Hold." He stuck his nose in the air and swiftly walked down to Thorn's shelter in the backyard.

AJ stared at the steps his father spiraled down a few minutes earlier, speechless. "What did I say?" he asked the air. When he received no response, he huffed and plucked out a cigar, examining it. "Now, let's see if you're as much fun as those dwarves said you are." And with that, he headed to his room.

* * *

**A/N: Hey!** I hope it wasn't too boring. As I was typing it I was thinking, "wow. This is lame." So, anyway, I hope you liked it. And NO, this is not an OC centered story. The first few chapters are just of Murtagh and AJ bonding, but then the plot kicks up and Murtagh is the main person (of course.) Limh, I promise there won't be as many near death experiences in this story!

**Please review!** I need to know what you think about it! Because I don't really think I should continue with this, I found the first chapter to be kinda lame. So you have to let me know if I should. Hmmm… I'll update in… tenish reviews? Limh, I know. I'm picky, but either I've been updating faster of people just haven't been hitting the little review button like they used to…

I hope you tolerated the description. And yes, Eragon WILL be in this story. ANd I've left a lot of unanswered question, but it will all be cleared up soon.

Random Facts: Dead Mommy is an actual game my siblings play. I have to give my sister the honor for creating such an awesome little kids game she invented. I thought it was pretty clever for a 5 year old... and Rosie is based off of my OTHER little sister Katie. lol actually evrything about Rosie's personality is Katie. I just thought it would make it more realistic. Katie is effing hilarious.


	2. Morzan's Castle

**A/N:** Hey! I'm back! Thanks for the awesome reviews, everyone! Really! Greatly appreciated. I'm sorry I haven't updated, I'm on vacation right now. :D And for those of you who were wondering, yes, I DID first hear that name from the movie Meet the Fockers. But I don't own the movie, but I do own the character Gaylord, and seeing as Gaylord is a name that several people have, I don't have to stick a disclaimer up, even though I don't own the movie! :D Preteen emoness in the following chapter. Sorry it took so long to stick this up. And yes, I know that cigars weren't invented back than. Hence the reason cannabis is in the cigars and not nicotine. Us humans have been smoking weed since the prehistoric days! And the cigars aren't like the ones now, they're more like…ancient. Like some marijuana wrapped up in paper.

I have decided, I WILL continue this story! I was planning on pursuing the whole cigar thing, but I did so much cool stuff on vacation I decided to skip the cigars and continue on to the plot.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

* * *

**Chapter 2- Morzan's Castle**

AJ and Murtagh slid off of Thorn's worn leather saddle. AJ groaned and rubbed his butt moodily. "This sucks," he moaned.

"You were the one with the cannabis, boy," sniffed Murtagh. A few days prior, Murtagh discovered his son was in possession of illegal substance - cannabis, as he dubbed it. It caused you to hallucinate and commit idiotic acts, from the simple burping in a bartenders face to attempting murder. Thus, Murtagh outlawed it and its demonic illusions. "You did not even use it right, AJ. You are suppose to sniff cannabis, not smoke it!"

AJ shuffled his feet guiltily. "I apologized, father. Several times. I did not know it was illegal!"

"That doesn't make it all right." And now they were on their way to Morzan's Castle for AJ's punishment. Murtagh had sentenced him to community service in the old crackpot palace of Murtagh's childhood nightmares.

They had stopped at a tiny, uncharted body of water that held a copper tint to it. Trees with hundreds of limbs outstretched towards the sky and moss covered trunks as wide as a dragon's foot packed together all around the area. Dead trees - how they died, Murtagh had no idea - lay intertwined together in a natural playground. Thick brown roots slithered through the lush overgrowth surrounding the water, sometimes lifted a few inches above the ground. Pebbles of all variations of colors littered the path, while nearer to the water was what appeared to be a beach.

AJ and Murtagh unclipped their black traveling cloaks in the same, swift motion and draped them across a nearby tree branch, the material gently flowing with the wind. AJ sat down in the dirt and proceeded to rip off his boots and roll his leggings up to his knees.

"What are you up to?" said Murtagh suspiciously.

"I'm going over to the water," responded AJ innocently. "I just want to know what sand here feels like."

Murtagh smiled and kicked off his boots as well. The two tiptoed their way through the pebbles, wary of dangerous plants and poisonous animals. After a few dozen strides, they reached the beach.

AJ stretched his toes, feeling the rocky sand squelching between them. The grey sand was so different than the tan kind he knew back home- definitely not as smooth or pretty, but decent none the less. A few ducks swam in the copper water.

Murtagh placed an arm around his son. "How's the sand compare to Arough?"

"Not as soft."

"Agreed."

"Hey, dad? Where are we?"

Murtagh tapped his chin thoughtfully, which was quickly developing into an annoying habit. "I'd say we're about a day away from Morzan's castle." He made his way back to Thorn, but before he could return to his ruby dragon, he halted, squatted, and stared at the ground. "AJ, come here!" he hollered. "Be careful, though! There's nettles on the way!"

AJ obliged and avoided the nettles until he reached his father. "Yes?"

Murtagh's slender fingers were carefully pressed against the tough surface of a gray pebble with about ten holes cut right through it. He brushed away the dirt blemishing the rock. "A moonstone. Bloody hell, I haven't seen one of these since I was twelve."

"What in all of Alagaesia is a moonstone?" said AJ.

"This, obviously." Murtagh indicated the tiny rock he lifted. "A rock with holes in it. They say rocks with these holes straight through them have been kissed by the moon god. Tornac and I used to go hunting for them when we were bored."

AJ gazed at the rock in awe. "Amazing!" He scanned the ground, and his eyes lit up. "They're everywhere!" Dozens of moonstones scattered through the pebbles higgledy-piggledy. AJ greedily swept ten up instantly. "Can I keep them?"

Murtagh chuckled. "Of course you can keep them." They continued searching for moonstones for a few minutes. They soon grew bored and climbed on the piles of dead, intertwined wood. They discussed the rare color of copper water, and they dipped their feet into the liquid, only to flinch back when a lobster pinched Murtagh's big toe.

By the end of the overcast day, both were tuckered out from bonding and playing together. They set up camp, lit up a campfire, and laid back on the grass while trying to see stars through the constant cloud coverage.

Murtagh wondered how Nasuada was doing, taking care of the kingdom as he conducted the annual check up and status report on Morzan's castle. Of course, it wasn't called that anymore. The proper name was "Warfare Relief Center." Or WRC for short. Murtagh converted the palace to a refuge hotspot for families affected by the war almost eleven years ago. To his surprise, several flocked there, all aware that they were finding comfort in Morzan's old home.

Murtagh gazed at his son tucked into his sleeping bag. He looked more and more like his mother everyday. "Goodnight, AJ."

"'Night, dad."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." AJ yawned, closed his eyes, and within five seconds the floor was shaking with his snores.

Murtagh lay on his back and stared absentmindedly at the stars, lost in many a depressing thought. He remembered the days when a knife helped him cope more than his dragon did, the days when a heavy chain circled his ankle, how it would heat up when Galbatorix was furious…

He rubbed his ankle with his other foot instinctively. He still had scars from when they stuck it on him- the only scars that remained when he went through the bizarre slave healing process after the king died. The healing seemed to have reversed time's toll on his nineteen year-old body, once so frail.

He remembered Nasuada crying when he stuck the ring on her finger, how everyone had gossiped about it.

He remembered how Eragon had sailed away into that bloody sunset. His departure would have made a beautiful painting- so romantic looking did the pinkish orange sunset appear, glinting on the mast of the large ship. How Saphira gleamed a majestic blue. To most people, his leaving was so perfect and gorgeous and quixotic.

But Murtagh wasn't _most people_. To him, Eragon's perfect little goodbye was sickening. To him, the sunset was taking away one of his last remaining relatives and his lovesick dragon's unborn baby.

Sickening. All sickening.

Murtagh's eyes flickered to Thorn, only to see his stomach slowly inflating and deflating in a rhythmic motion. Murtagh yawned, rubbed his eyes, and snuggled tighter into his sleeping bag.

* * *

"Up and at 'em!"

AJ's eyes snapped open as he jumped four feet out of his sleeping bag. "Ah! Dad! Damn, it's only sunrise!"

Murtagh grinned. "You find breakfast, remember? Part of your punishment."

AJ groaned.

"Now, boy!" He nudged the small of his son's back with his heavy black boot. "Up! Or you're banned from visiting friends and flirting with local girls until you're twenty!"

"You are legally an adult at the age of sixteen," barked AJ sleepily. "You can't ground me until I am twenty!"

"You live in my palace, you live under my rules. Either that or I shall chop off your head."

"You wouldn't behead me," sneered AJ. "I'm the crowned prince! You wouldn't have a son to take your place."

Murtagh grinned in mock devilishness. "That can easily be fixed."

AJ shivered.

"Now get breakfast! I want to be in the air in an hour, boy!"

AJ unwillingly stumbled out of his bag. "I'm up, all right?" He scratched his belly through his baggy shirt and slipped into his tunic and boots. He walked off deeper into the woods, leaving Murtagh alone to pack up. While rolling up the sleeping bags and tossing the moonstones into a plain leather traveling bag, he conversed with Thorn.

* * *

The sky was cloudless, and the afternoon sun seemed to warm the plants.

Eragon crouched down in the tall grass of a beach in the fetal position, his eyes closed. He studied all the animals camouflaged around him - their breathing, their size, their heat, their thoughts - until he felt a familiar nudge in the back of his mind. _Lunch,_ it said.

_Coming, _replied Eragon. He stood up and made his way back from the beach dunes and headed to a spread of trees. Elves surrounded him chatting, laughing, joking all in the Ancient Language. Eragon halted at a particularly large tree and looked up.

Treetop houses scattered in every possible direction, connected by thick wooden bridges and grass rope. Unsteady looking latters dropped from a branch on every occupied tree, such as the one Eragon now stood in front of. The homes were just one of the many communities in Alalea, the land of the elves. Eragon gripped either side of the rope latter and forcefully pulled himself up until he reached his neighbor's front door. He pivoted and briskly walked down the right bridge, it swaying beneath his stride, until he arrived at _his _front door - a plain wooden framed object. He walked in.

A beautiful elf with raven hair and emerald eyes busily set up the dining table. "Will you _help_ me?" she sighed.

"Sure, Arya." The two mates placed all the vegetables and fruits on the small table fit for four. The two sat down and began dishing up. "Do we have any company tonight?"

Arya shook her head. "Just us."

"Oh." They continued talking about their day.

"I went down to the beach today," said Eragon. "I wish you would have gone. It was so peaceful. No wind at _all_."

"That's a nice change," noted Arya. "It always seems to be blustery down there."

"Aye." Eragon could clearly recall the tall grass forming the dunes to be constantly billowing in a never ceasing pattern.

"Did you hear Quilette is pregnant?" said Arya lightheartedly.

"Really?" said Eragon wide-eyed. Arya nodded. "That's great! Of all the people to get pregnant, Quilette would have been my last suspicion. She's only been Aaron's mate for some odd months."

Arya shrugged. "I guess they just love each other more that most," she hinted.

Eragon slowly chewed his papaya, a watered down glare illuminating his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"What's what mean, hun?"

"The way you said 'I guess they just love each other more than most.' You sounded bitter."

"Did I." said Arya, the cold civility in her voice like acid. "Strange."

Eragon frowned. "What's that matter?"

"Oh, don't you 'what's the matter' with _me_!" Impulsively, she slammed her hands against the tiny table, causing the wooden utensils to rattle and Eragon to flinch. "You know I want a child!"

Shit. He _hated_ this topic, and she knew it. Eragon's gaze slid down to his lap where he was now twiddling his thumbs. "I know you do; I do, too, but you know elves aren't that…"

"Yes," said Arya into the awkward atmosphere. "I know, Eragon. I _am_ an elf, after all. It's just…" She sighed dejectedly. "They say having a child is the greatest sign of love around here. I guess we just don't love each other enough, Eragon." She stood up and headed to their room.

Eragon stared after her in shock. He abandoned his food and followed her. "What does _that_ mean?"

Arya buried her face in her hands. "Do you want to follow your traditions and get married? Will that increase our happiness? I know your family back home finds the elven ways of mating without matrimony somewhat sleazy. Do you find my customs sleazy, Eragon? Is that it?"

"My family back home is not me, and they only feel that way because most of them have never trained with elves. The ones back home who _have_ trained with elves find nothing wrong with it!"

"I do not think so."

"And why is that?"

Arya sighed anew. She strutted out the door. "I am going to go head for some fresh air."

Eragon's heart sped up. "Will you be back?"

Arya pivoted around and glared at her lover. "Eragon, I traveled halfway around the world with you to move here and left behind both our families. Of _course_ I am coming back!" With that, she stomped off.

"You know what?" muttered Eragon after she left. "Sometimes I wished we had never left." He remembered with vivid detail the fortune Angela had read him so long ago.

_You will leave Alagaesia forever._

Eragon knew what would happen if he ever departed from his home country; he was aware of the consequences. Now he would never see his family again. He sighed and picked up his wineskin and glared at the red liquid substance inside. "Draum'r Kopa."

The wine shimmered for a moment, and woman stared in her beat up mirror crazily, the worry on her face so deep it almost left scars. Katrina. Eragon sighed; the image vanished into a the same old blood red drink.

* * *

Katrina glared mutinously into the eyes of her reflection. Oh, how she wanted to take a knife and chuck it at the glass! She plucked out one short strand of hair, her mane recently whacked off. "RORAN!" she shrieked. "COME HERE! IT'S AN EMERGENCY!"

Roran appeared in the doorway of the dressing room seconds later, his breath coming in labored rasps. "What's the problem?" he breathed. "Are you hurt? It sounds like you saw a snake!"

Katrina turned to gaze at her husband, but all she could see was his blurry form as salty, hot tears streaked her face. "Look at this!" She shoved the strand of hair she pulled out in his face. "_Look at this!"_

Roran squinted, trying to get a clear view of the thin strand. "Yeah. It's a piece of your hair. What about it?"

"W-What about it?" she sniffed. "It's a _gray_ hair!"

Roran peered even further, analyzing this "gray" hair. "Damn, Katrina. All this crying and screaming over your hair?" He scratched his chin. He didn't see her problem!

"Not just my hair! My _**youth**_!" she wailed. "It is highly unf-fair at Nasuada will be b-beautiful and young for three hundred odd years, and I go gray in my twenties!"

"It's not gray. It's _white_."

"Bah! White!" She fled the room. "I'm going through my midlife crisis twenty years early."

"Damn, Katrina!" hissed Roran. "I _told_ you. It's a white!" His face softened some as he grabbed her face and demanded they make eye contact. "Would I lie to you?"

"No," whispered Katrina after a moment.

Roran smiled. "That is what I thought."

Katrina returned his smile, took a deep breath, and tried to put this behind her. "We are going to the palace in an hour, so get cleaned up."

"Oh?" muttered Roran with mild interest. "On what occasion?"

"We go all the time! But if you _really_ want to know." She grinned and winked. "Murtagh's birthday is next week. He's been unbelievably stressed lately, and Nasuada and the whole castle for that matter thought it would be nice to throw him a surprise party."

Roran arched an eyebrow. "And I did not hear about this?"

Katrina tapped her foot. "I told you at _least_ thrice. How could you forget your cousin's birthday?"

"I didn't," said Roran nonchalantly. "He prefers to ignore it."

* * *

The sun hid behind the hills in a final goodbye all AJ and Murtagh finally slid off of Thorn some few miles away from Morzan's castle where no one would notice the dragon in the woods. Murtagh and AJ slipped out of their nicer looking tunics, traveling cloaks, boots, and shirts and shrugged into Murtagh's worn out old basic outfit of baggy tees and tarnished shoes. "Okay," said the father. "We want to look undercover and help the people there. Right now I'd say we're dressed as meat packers or possibly farmers, who are the typical people that volunteer." He grinned toothily. "Am I crownless?"

"As always," smirked AJ in return, examining his father's medium brown locks. "I would have no idea you were the king if I wasn't your son…"

Murtagh laughed, and the two took a nice, long walk down to Murtagh's childhood home until they arrived at the open front doors.

**Welcome to Warfare Relief Center (WRC) serving those affected by war and others in need** said a large sign outside the door.

"Why did we not pass any gates?" asked AJ, his face somewhat sweaty from the walk.

"I ordered to tear it down. A little foreboding, don't you think?"

AJ nodded. They drifted into the palace. The walls were a lively light blue, much different than the once miserable gray ones occupying it when Murtagh grew up. The entry hallway, once adorned with an overpriced red rug now lay bare. The interior designer felt it would loosen up the atmosphere and decrease the awkwardness when a warfare victim, upon first visiting, did not walk on a runner (that probably cost more than their homes) when they first stepped foot in WRC. A man waited near the door to greet them.

"Good evening," he said. "May I show you around?"

"No, thank-you," said Murtagh kindly. "We have been here before."

The man nodded. "Have a good day, sir. And remember, you all are welcomed here anytime."

AJ smiled bashfully and clutched onto his daddy's hand like a shy little boy would.

The man at the door gazed at AJ with gentle eyes. _We are here to help_, they said.

Memories flooded Murtagh, as they always did when he dropped in every now and then to meet the patients and get a status report. He stared at the large staircase directly in front of him. It led to the old dining room, the drawing room, the dressing room, and a few more empty chambers he used to love to play hide and seek in. However, he did not use the stairs. He and his son took a left and made their way to a small wooden door somewhat dull and ugly beside the stairs. As they entered the door, the largest soup kitchen in the world came into view, and dozens of men and women lined up to get their food. A few volunteers stood behind a counter near the coup cauldrons to dish the grimy people up their grub.

AJ stared at the chamber with wide-eyed horror. He tugged on his dad's hand he was holding. Murtagh bent down and AJ whispered in his ear, "Are these the people who were affected by the war?"

"Some of them," responded Murtagh in the same, hushed voice. "These are the ones who can't afford food. It doesn't mean it was because of the war; they just are too poor." His face screwed up.

AJ recognized the specific frown. "It's not your fault, dad. You're doing your best."

Murtagh blinked in astonishment at his son's words.

AJ rolled his eyes. "I've lived with you my whole life. I've learnt how to reads your expressions." He gave his father an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek.

Murtagh's face softened somewhat. He erected himself to his full height and walked up behind the soup kitchen counter. He tapped one lady helping out on her frail shoulder. "Excuse me, miss."

The woman jumped.

"Oh, um, sorry…"

The woman examined Murtagh and the boy holding his hand and her face warmed. "How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you could direct me to the sleeping quarters?"

The woman smiled and pointed to an entryway to their right. "Go through there and keep walking straight."

"Thank-you." Murtagh flashed a toothy smirk.

The woman stared at him interestedly. "You look familiar. Have you been here before?"

"A few times." Murtagh tugged his boys fingers. "Let's go. Thanks for the help." He dashed out of the chamber and passed through the indicated door and continued strutting through about five dark doors attached to rooms filled with storage until he finally arrived in a large, once-ballroom chamber completely garnished with mattresses and persons wearing gross clothes and volunteers helping out.

Murtagh and AJ fit right in with the volunteers. Murtagh muttered in AJ's ear, his breath tickling his son. "Mingle and talk with the people. I'll meet back with you in about an hour."

AJ groaned.

"Pretend you're having fun or you'll be in even more trouble than you already are, and if I don't see you talking to these poor people then you will immensely regret it." He gave the boy a small threatening nudge and vanished into another room.

AJ had no idea what to do. Never having seen so many troubled people, he scanned the area. Only about a dozen people with plenty of spare beds in neat rows, their mumbled chattering echoing. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to an elderly woman sitting on a mattress and staring off into space. He knelt down and nervously placed his hand on her shoulder.

The woman, face and body smudged with dirt and clothes ripped to shreds, gazed at the boy somewhat startled.

"Sorry," cried AJ. "I did not mean to startle you."

The woman's gaze still stayed on him, her knotted, wispy hair pulled back in a low ponytail.

"Umm…" Her stare was unnervingly blank. "I am… AJ…"

After a moment of awkward silence, the woman rasped. "AJ?"

AJ nodded. "What's yours?"

"Angie."

"Angie?" clarified AJ. "That is a lovely name. My sister was almost named Angie, did you know that? But we decided to call her Rosie." A lie, but small talk was necessary.

Angie smiled slightly, making her seem ten years younger. "How old is your sister?"

"Two. Adorable, really. You know, my mother and father were in an argument one time, not too long ago. I think it had something to do with dad's work. Something about danger and…I can't remember. But anyway, Rosie's head was snapping back and forth when someone new was yelling. Everyone grew quiet; there was this oddly tense silence in the air. Rosie comes over to my mother and taps her.

"Mom asks her what she wants, not particularly caring at the moment. I think she was too worked up over father. Rosie crawls on her lap and stares intently at mom's skull. You know what she says?"

Angie slowly shook her head, fascinated.

"'I found another gray hair on mommy's head!'" AJ began laughing uncontrollably.

Angie couldn't help but smirk today. "That is pretty cute."

"That's not the end of it!" he chuckled. "Mom glares at Rosie. Rosie just grins innocently, and all of a sudden dad starts cracking up, too. 'You're getting old, babe,' he says." AJ's eyes lit up. "While mom is staring down my father with the power of a shade, Rosie was watching him thoughtfully. She slides off mom's lap and onto dad's. Then, she pounds on dad's tummy with her chubby hands. Then she said, 'Daddy's tummy jiggles!'" AJ hoped this story would somehow lighten the atmosphere of the situation.

It worked; Angie giggled.

"Then Rosie is trying to pull off his tunic so she can get a better look at his jiggling stomach, and she can't do it. '_Daddy!_' I remember her crying, '_You're gettin too fat fo yor tunic!"_

Angie and the few surrounding people started sniggering.

"Dad," continued AJ, "Who is by all means _not_ putting on weight, just blinks and mom starts laughing until everyone is laughing and Rosie has no idea why the hell they are. Then you know what she does? She runs all through the pal- house chanting, 'Daddy needs diet! Daddy needs diet! Daddy needs diet!' doing her odd little Rosie dance."

Angie's snickering turns into a full laugh. "Kids can be strange, I must admit."

A ratty man stared at them. He said to Angie in a strange accent, "You're friend is crazy."

"A little bit," rasped Angie.

AJ sighed, thinking back on the good times. "Yeah, we have quite a bit of fun in our household."

* * *

Murtagh sat down in a old chair and scooted in under an old table and an old man sat across from him. He had thick eyebrows and a friendly countenance.

"How many people have checked in for food in the past month, Frank?"

"About three hundred," replied Frank. He was the only one in WRC that knew that the king was in their presence at the moment.

Murtagh frowned. "Three hundred? Did you have enough food?"

"Plenty, milord."

Murtagh nodded and jotted something down on a yellowed piece of parchment. "The past year?"

"About seven times that."

Murtagh nodded anew; the scratching of his quill reaching his ears. "Those staying the nights in the past year?"

"About one hundred, sire."

"Damn it, call me Murtagh."

"Yes, sire."

Murtagh rubbed his forehead. He reread his various notes and numbers he had marked down. "Is there anything we have not covered?"

Frank bit his cheek. "No, Murtagh. Nothing other than the fact more than half of the chambers in the home are still unused."

"Good," said Murtagh. "And the…den?"

"We've tried sticking people down there, milord. None of them liked it; the area seems to be the only place in this castle that seems to unnerve them."

"Well that's understandable." Murtagh stood up; his chair squeaked and echoed throughout the bare room. He rolled up the parchment and stuffed it in his pocket. "May I take a walk around the perimeter and examine the outside?"

"Of course, milord. Take all the time you would like, but I am positive you will fine the surrounding area of WRC to be _most_ taken care of."

"Thank-You, Frank. You have taken care of this place lovely."

Frank smiled; no one knew why he preferred to be called Frank. His actual birth name was Frederick. "It is my civic duty, sire. I am flattered you pay me so much more than I requested."

Murtagh shrugged, waved him goodbye, and headed outside. He passed his son, who was apparently trying to break the ice between him and the homeless. Murtagh motioned for him to keep talking and spent ten minutes walking outside.

As he step foot out of the palace, fresh air wafted in his face; he realized he had been their much longer then he had assumed. The sun had dropped and stars speckled the cloudless sky.

And then, all of a sudden, Murtagh could have sworn he heard whispering. He pivoted around. "Anyone there?"

More whispering.

The darkness was bone-chilling; it made your imagination run wild. Who could possibly be whispering? Murtagh tiptoed and followed the sound of the hushed voices for how long he knew not. "WHOSE THERE?" he called.

The whispering instantly ceased; a single cry rang through the air.

Murtagh was running now, his mind touching the talking people.

"_Run!_" someone hissed. The old bell chimed atop if Morzan's castle, indicating it was ten o'clock; Uru'baen's curfew. All were to be indoors by now. The bell caused Murtagh a slight distraction, but that was just enough for the people to escape his mental hold. He could hear footsteps running frantically into the woods.

Murtagh sighed. _Probably some teenagers breaking the curfew, Thorn._

_Yeah,_ chuckled the dragon. _Most likely._

Murtagh pushed the memory to the back of his brain and headed back inside. WRC, there doors never closed, was the one exception to the Uru'baen curfew. No doors needed to stay closed.

As Murtagh step foot into Morzan's castle, he stopped dead in his tracks. The blood from his face drained when he stared down in horror at the site before him.

There lay the man who welcomed him and AJ inside prior that day on the floor, dead. His farmer clothes were stained with blood.

But what was disturbing was the stick stabbed through his heart. And attached to the stick was a note addressed to Murtagh.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, I know the ending was lame and confusing an d undescriptive. I'm so tired you have no idea. Forgive me for the typos. I've been on vacation for three weeks and I still AM. UGH. Well, I hope you liked it and it wasn't too fillerish, because it wasn't really a filler :D The ending was cheesy, though. I had AJ tell that story because I wanted to really show the bonding between the family and all…


	3. The Surprise Party

**A/N:**

**I'm back!! Okay, sorry about the long wait; here's the next chapter! :P **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

* * *

**Chapter 3- **The Surprise Party

In a swift movement, Murtagh picked the note off of the stick while rushing to the sleeping quarters. He burst through the castle doors upon alas arriving, searching frantically for his son. The several faces of the poor and homeless watched him as he strode up to his son, gripped the boy's wrist, and muttered in his ear, "We have to go."

AJ, whom had been kneeling down talking to a old man, looked at Murtagh in confusion and a hidden fear only his father would have recognized. He knew his dad's tone of voice - tense, low, controlled - and it was never good. He stood up. _Why?_ he mouthed.

_I'll tell you later, _glared Murtagh's eyes, reflecting AJ's secretly scared little face.

AJ nodded, and the two headed to Frank's work chamber.

Frank gazed up at the two approaching figures and squinted. "Murtagh…?" he said. His body language asked the king why he seemed to be in such a hurry. Murtagh clicked the door shut behind him. "What appears to be the problem?"

"Frank, there's a dead body by your front doors," said Murtagh in a low voice. "Completely impaled. The doorman, I believe."

Frank frowned. "Oh no, this is not good at _all_." He nodded at the two men. "It will be taken care of; the body will be delivered to his family."

"I shall send in an investigation crew," said Murtagh.

AJ clutched his father's arm. "D-Dad…"

"Not now, AJ. I'll explain to you in a moment."

AJ's fear was no longer masked.

Upon seeing his child's scared expression, Murtagh ruffled AJ's nearly nonexistent hair lovingly. AJ smiled, the fear dimming somewhat.

Murtagh nodded to Frank in a polite thank-you and kicked his heel up. "We have to go, AJ. You're mother and my council needs to hear this."

"Why is it so important?"

"I will tell you on the way home."

* * *

They flew for days. Tiring, unceasing days that tormented their sore from sitting butts.

When AJ had first heard his father's tale, his eyes grew wide and disbelieving. "He was just…_dead?_"

"Yes," replied Murtagh, who had left out the little snippet involving the note addressed to him.

"I find a hard time thinking that someone would just impale him, dad. There must have been a reason."

Shoot! The boy was too much like his mother. He was too damn cynical. "Well…" Murtagh trailed off. He couldn't tell AJ about the note, however cliché it might have been. It would scare the hell out of his normally stubborn son.

__

But then again AJ isn't easily scared,

chided Thorn.

Murtagh sighed. _Let's wait and tell Nas first._

_Agreed._

* * *

The candles were extinguished. Had the sun not set, the whole palace would have been illuminated with it's warm rays. But all that hung in the air now was silent darkness, and the soft breathing of several excited bodies. The world stood still; a quill could have been heard smacking the floorboards two stories below.

An echoing of a door's _creak_ing reached many persons' ears, and everyone crouching tensed even further.

Footsteps pitter-pattering up the numerous flights of stairs could be heard along with the quiet, mumbled conversation taking place between two individuals.

As the two people alas arrived at the top of the steps, the shorter silhouette of the two huffed. "Someone blew out all the candles!" he spat.

"Probably your mother," muttered the taller figure. "_Brisingr._"

Several candles flared into life as the moon no longer provided the only lantern.

Murtagh and AJ jumped as about two hundred people popped out from behind furniture. _"**SURPRISE!**"_ they shouted at the top of their lungs.

Murtagh staggered somewhat, startled. The amazement and disbelief obvious in his eyes. "What the bloody hell!" What appeared to be his closest friends and family, whole kitchen staff, all his advisors - dwarf, elf, and human, - and just about everyone else that works in the palace sported party hats and huge grins. They all laughed at the king's response.

Before Murtagh could say anything further, Nasuada rushed to him and brushed her lips against his. "Hey, Price," she teased. "We knew how stressed you have been lately, what with the rebel groups and whatnot, so we decided to throw you a surprise birthday party!" She smiled a winning smile.

"It's my birthday?" He blinked; he had completely forgotten.

"That's right!" chuckled Gaylord in his stained white cook apron. He held a ladle in one hand, as if ready to dish people some food. "The big three-oh! What's it feel like to no longer be in your twenties, Your Highness?"

"And still look like you are nineteen," moped Katrina, not forgetting her graying hairs.

"I…it feels…old…" he said, unable to think of anything other than the note he hastily stuffed in his pocket earlier. "I feel old."

"Awe, it is not too bad, cousin!" said Roran lightheartedly as he stepped out of the crowd. "You are only to live until you are eight hundred. You're practically a new born!"

Murtagh's lips twitched until he broke out into a grin. "Wow! I'm…speechless."

"Please, help yourself to the food the kitchen staff so kindly made for us!" Nasuada said like a proper hostess would. "Alcohol all around!"

The crowd cheered and meandered to the dining hall on the bottom floor, chatting and flirting and giggling. Murtagh plopped onto the couch and rubbed his aching head. Was he really thirty now? Time flew so quickly… _Thirty, Thorn._ chuckled Murtagh.

Yes, well, at least you humans cease growth. Each year Valeo and I become even larger. Happy birthday.

Thank-you.

I'm going to sleep.

Have a pleasant rest,

"You coming?" asked Nasuada, interrupting his thoughts.

"Just give me a second to catch my breath."

Nasuada frowned. Her curve-fitting red dress hugged her so nicely Murtagh could not help but gaze at her. She cupped Murtagh's cheek; people still filed downstairs. "What is the problem? Is it the party?"

"No!" said Murtagh quickly. "It's amazing, Nas. I just have a bit of a headache. Nothing to cry over; I'll be downstairs in a minute." He kissed her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

* * *

"Don't yuh ever worry?" slurred Roran. His eyes were bloodshot. The dining hall, no longer equipped with the expensive, wide, long table it usually consisted of but instead appeared more like a pub. Roran sat opposite of Murtagh at a small table that barely fit four, a large wineskin filled to the brim with mead gripped firmly in his hand. He took a long swig and ordered another refill.

"Wurry 'bout what?" hiccupped Murtagh, whose unfocused eyes kept drawing to Nasuada in her flowing red dress.

"About the future," responded Roran.

Murtagh laughed. "Now why would I wurry 'bout such an impossible thing! Do tell me." He clutched his stomach, hoping to keep all his beer down.

Roran grinned toothily, his red face making him look like an underfed warthog. "You know, about kids."

"_Kids?_" repeated Murtagh, his thick tongue enunciating the word slowly as his intoxicated mind tried to process the conversation ensuing. "Why would I wurry 'bout _kids?_"

"'Cuz," said Roran, asking the waitress for yet another glass of mead. His dilated eyes wandered his cousin's face. "Yuh'll be alive fer eight hundred years. Don'tcha wurry 'bout Nas endin up the mother of a hundred?"

After a long minute of Murtagh draining the last of his beer, his eyelids drooped and he slurred, "Naw." He snickered. "I don' mind. Long as it don't ruin her figure." The two men laughed full heartedly. "But really, I didn't want kids for anuther hundred years, but I dunno 'bout her."

"I bet I could out drink yuh," teased Roran off subject.

Murtagh's stoned face lit up even further. "Prob'ly. But Nas could drink yuh under the table." He hiccupped. "I remember one time, we were havin a contest, see who could out drink the other. We sat at the table after da kids' bedtime. We each drank a glass a mead, one at a time at the same time, neither gettin' ahead of da uther in how many drinks we've had. After about sev'nty glasses, I said, 'You win, babe,' and I slid under the table and passed out. Right before I closed meh eyes, Nas stuck her foot on my chest and poured herself anuther glass of mead!"

Roran and Murtagh roared in laughter. "Katrina don't drink."

Murtagh's eyes flickered to Katrina, who was giggling with Nasuada on the other side of the room. He would have gone over and swooped his wife off her feet many hours ago, but when he tried to stand he swayed and fell back in his chair. "Looks purty drunk to me, cuzin."

"Naw," chuckled Roran. "She prob'ly only had a few drinks."

"How's Garrow?" asked Murtagh suddenly.

"All right," said Roran. "Have you not seen him today?"

"Said hi to me, then ran off with AJ. And I saw Dillwyn, too. He's a blacksmith's apprentice now, eh?"

"Yeah, just landed the apprenticeship yesterday. Master's gonna have a hard time with him. He's always flirtin with the ladies."

"Good ol' Dillwyn!" chuckled the king. "I always knew he'd-"

"Here comes the cake!" shouted Gaylord. He and about ten other lesser cooks pushed a blue and red five foot tall layered cake with thirty candles adorning it on a cart. He stopped in front of Murtagh, and the people still sober enough stumbled and gathered around the birthday man.

Nasuada snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, scratching the nape of his neck with her fingers affectionately. She placed her chin upon his head. "I think he's too intoxicated, Gaylord. He'll need help blowing out the candles."

Murtagh beamed, and the crowd of party guests chuckled. Nasuada had only invited the palace staff and their closest friends to attend Murtagh's party - she knew he wouldn't want something huge, but unfortunately they had a huge palace staff.

Everyone started singing very off-pitch the song 'Happy Birthday,' and Murtagh needed help getting out of his chair to stagger to the cake.

"Make a wish," whispered Nasuada.

After he was sure he had blown out all the candles, Murtagh pivoted around and embraced his wife, mainly to support his tipsy form.

"What did you wish for?" everyone inquired at the same time.

Murtagh shrugged. "Can't tell, remember? It's a secret. And where's AJ?" He kissed Nasuada's cheek, still unable to release her without collapsing.

"The last I saw of him, he was off wandering with Garrow about an hour ago," said Nasuada. "I haven't seen him since then. He is around here somewhere…"

Murtagh was too stoned to care that his son had been missing for sixty minutes. He shrugged and ordered another beer.

Nasuada glared at him until he canceled his order. "No more, Murtagh. You will have the most throbbing headache tomorrow."

"No," disagreed Murtagh stubbornly as he stuffed a piece of cake in his mouth. "Roran will!" He hugged Nasuada tighter and caressed her face in his hands; he buried his head in the arch connecting her neck to her shoulder and twirled one of the long locks of her dark hair. "You look beautiful tonight."

Nasuada smiled. "Thank-you, for the twelfth time." She smirked and returned his embrace. "You look drunk and tired."

"Both of which I am," remarked Murtagh. His unfocused eyes surged with a blissful happiness he knew wouldn't last. "But I'm also in love."

Nasuada tsked playfully. "You lovesick drunkard!" She brushed the hardly visible bump on his nose with the side of her finger, his scarred arms holding her. "I haven't seen you like this since Eragon and Arya sailed away. People will be talking about how intoxicated you are tonight, Price."

Murtagh just grinned.

* * *

****

A/N:Well, it was originally longer, hence the reason it feels kinda like it was cut off, but I feel like I'm going to start getting thickly into the plot _next_ chapter. Sorry about the quality of the writing; I have a tendency to write really late at night, which I really should stop doing because it affects the quality of my writing… **_PLEASE REVIEW!!_ The more reviews I get, the faster I'll update! And I'm gonna try to update ASAP, as soon as my new high school life settles down. **


	4. Disappearances

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed!!

**Warning: Be prepared for a freaking boring and freaking long chapter. **

Well, I hated Brisingr. I won't give anything away, but I bloody hated it. Never read a more disappointing book in my whole life. What the hell is the point of these stories now? They'll all go to bloody waste with the way Christopher Paolini ruined the book. (fumes) I'm so pissed at him. Just though I'd announce that.

**WELL, I'm really sorry about not updating sooner!!** I would have, but I wanted to finish Cousin and Fiance before Brisingr came out, so I stayed away from this one for a while, but now the updates should get back up to at least once a week!! : ) Forgive me if my writing is crappy. Everything's been crappy…

And you know what I think the most unprofessional thing in the world is?? Adding unneeded information. So I agree with Canadian-Girl14 on how pointless half the book was! Just filling space… lol I'm not one to talk because I'm notorious for my fillers, but it still pissed meh off!!

Lol well none of the story will be based on real life experience anymore. Really the only thing was the game Dead Mommy and the moonstones, I suppose.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

* * *

**Chapter 4- **Disappearances

Murtagh examined the scroll that lay unrolled before him with mild interest; it was a map of Alagaesia, and he had seen many of greater detail than this simple sketch, but a simple sketch was all he needed. Near the scroll littered several other untouched pieces of parchment and various similar items, scattered carelessly upon the large brown, rectangular table. He placed a thin finger upon the small portion of the opened scroll marked _Spine._ "So you're saying," he clarified with an unusually tired drawl, "that there have been reports of rebel movements here lately."

Jormunder, his chief adviser, nodded. "Yes, sire, the information was just received this morning. We have a theory that they have stationed themselves there for the trading posts in Flam."

Murtagh nodded and rubbed his temples. "Yes, Flam is close to the Spine, and the trading posts have been reputed for their numerous amount of weapons." He sighed and scratched his cheek. "Any news of Kuasta?"

Jormunder shook his head, and the dozen or so lesser advisers of Murtagh's cabinet (which was a vast assortment of elves, dwarves, humans, and a few Urgals,) shook their heads obediently. "The Kuasta rebels have so far remained relatively inconspicuous this month, sire."

"Well…good then." He took a deep, relaxing breath. It didn't occur to him how difficult royalty would be when he accepted it.

As far as his cabinet were aware, there were six remaining bands of Galbatorix's old supporters that were active and threatening. They resided in Kuasta, Gil'ead, Flam, Bullridge, Ceunon, and Narda. All, coincidentally, were along the west coast aside from Bullridge.

_But,_ Murtagh reminded himself grimly, _those are just the ones we know, the ones that are dangerous._ The question was, were there any near Arough? Would they try to harm his family? Yes, six _known_ rebel bands. The unknown ones were what made the king squirm.

* * *

Sunlight flooded his chamber, causing Murtagh to groan and massage his skull. "Morning already," he moaned.

It was strange to be dreaming of his discussions with his advisors. He tended to dream of more thrilling things. Wait…_dream_? Since when did he pass out? He vaguely remembered the night before, and surprisingly his headache was tolerable. He slept like a drunken rock, yet he remembered his dream. He found that strange; usually when he seemed even a tad stoned his sleep was empty.

_You don't have much of an hangover when you double over and vomit all over your cousin's wife,_ a little voice hummed in his head.

Murtagh shivered with humor. _That must have been wonderful. How did Katrina take it?_

_She is still living, young one,_ responded Thorn. _But Nasuada is not._

_Katrina will get over it, but what of Nasuada? What on earth do you mean of such, Thorn? Why would you say Nasuada is not alive? I am not enjoying your joke._ He tried to act calm, but when Thorn hesitated to answer his questioning his pulse sped up.

_I wasn't jesting, Murtagh. Nasuada is in pain._ His tone was hard, but Murtagh could feel his concern for his rider crash over their bond. Concern and sadness.

Running his fingers through his knotted hair, Murtagh propped himself up in bed against the cool wall that chilled his skin. His head pulsated slightly, and the effort made him dizzy, but that did not bother him. _Thorn, what are you saying? Where is she?_ He gulped as alarm constricted his chest.

_Murtagh…_ Thorn mentally sighed. _I am not the one to tell you what conspired last night. Nasuada must tell you._

_So she's healthy?_ He released a breath he did not realize he was holding.

_Physically, young one, physically. But there are many types of health. She is not in any circumstance mentally or emotionally healthy._

Murtagh looked to his left and patted Nasuada's side of the bed, groping for her as is she was snoozing soundly beside him, her body rising and falling as she softly breathed. But the bed was empty. "Thorn," trembled Murtagh, "where is she?"

_I am not sure, Murtagh…_ Silence for a piercing second. _Valeo claims she is in AJ's room. You should see Valeo; he is entirely distraught, young one. He cannot even blink without twitching. Result of Nasuada's state of mind._

Murtagh kicked himself out of bed and stumbled slightly as the world spun around him. Focusing, he pushed back the alcohol's affect on him and teetered barebacked out of his master bedroom. Last night's fun still hung on his breath, while his eyes were faintly bloodshot. Staggering down the hall, he burst through AJ's door.

He never would have expected what he saw after that.

Nasuada sat besides AJ's nightstand that held his few books, scrolls, schoolwork, and a single white candlestick almost entirely melted. She fingered the candle's wick absentmindedly, intertwining the thread through her ebony fingers. She stroked the side of the candle like she would a pet. "We should have replaced the candle long ago, Murtagh," she said distantly.

Her tone made the hair on the back of Murtagh's neck stand up; it reminded him vaguely of Elva's voice, how eerie it was being so mature in one so young. The far away atmosphere his wife's speech contained scared him. "I, uh, I shall have it replaced as soon as possible, Nas."

Nasuada chuckled humorlessly. "Murtagh, you should have seen yourself last night."

Guilt masked Murtagh's features. "Forgive me. I was…not myself."

"_I imagine._" A hard glint formed in her eye, and she continued caressing the candle. "We all were wild. We did not think. We did not care. We did not…pay attention." Her distant gaze became even more unfocused, more absentminded, and Murtagh feared she had finally cracked underneath the pressure of being queen.

"Nas…" he trailed off as her stare instantly snapped back to reality and glared at him with all the malice in the world.

Her cold eyes never left him. "What."

"Could you, perhaps tell me…why you are acting so strangely…sweet?"

At this, Nasuada chuckled anew. A cold, hard, pained laugh that sounded as if she were crying in agony. "'Sweet!' Oh, this is grand. You have not called me sweet since you smashed my prized china!" She took a deep breath and remained staring at him with the eyes of a hawk. "But this is more than some china, Murtagh. This is much, much more."

A sinking feeling crushed Murtagh. He cautioned a few steps closer to Nasuada and cupped her face in his shaking hands, hoping this would calm her down some. "Look, I'll go over to Katrina's cottage and apologize this afternoon about-"

Again, Nasuada chuckled like sharp icicles. "This is not anything about Katrina, Murtagh, and you upchucking bile across her finest dress! This is about AJ!" She ceased stroking the melted wax and abruptly stood up, breaking away from Murtagh's hands.

"AJ?" Murtagh instinctively scanned the perimeter of the room. AJ was no where to be seen. "What about him, sweet?" He tried to touch her again, but she slashed him away with the reflexes of a cat.

Nasuada's hard glint instantly evaporated and was replaced by a look of desperate denial. "Price… AJ's missing. The rebels kidnapped him last night while we were celebrating, and, and, and…" Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor with the speed of a brick.

Murtagh caught her before she could hit the ground. He stared at her flustered form as it trembled. She lifted her head so she could see him, and her bottom lip quivered. "We can't find him, Murtagh, we have search parties roaming half of Arough. He has vanished. We were going to wake you, but the men claimed you needed your rest. They told me to rest, too, but I just could not, Murtagh!" Her tears overflowed into a river of sadness, and the next thing she knew she was being held close by her husband and showered in comforting kisses. "Y-you don't know w-what it's l-like t-to b-be the mother of-f a m-miss-sing s-son!"

No, he had to admit he didn't, but he knew what it felt like to be the _father_ of a missing son, and not just a son, his first born. His heir. "We'll find him," he murmured repeatedly. "We'll find him. Please don't worry; we'll find him."

Eventually, as her husband kept soothing her, Nasuada's sobs faded into a weak gasping. Murtagh grew more and more ashamed with every passing moment. _Of only I hadn't become so terribly drunk… _

_It is not your fault, Murtagh,_ chimed Thorn in his head. It made his rider inwardly jump; he had temporarily forgotten how Thorn could hear his every thought. _How could you have known, young one?_

Murtagh suddenly grew angry._ Thorn! Quit calling me 'young one.' I'm thirty, and secondly yes, it _is _my fault. Thorn, I should have told them what I knew! About the man and the note… the note._ It had entirely wiped from his mind. Remembering how he stuffed it in his pocket, he dug his had in his tunic searching for it.

"Looking for this?" said Nasuada in a calm voice equally as chilling as the distant one. She held a bloodstained piece of parchment that Murtagh recognized as the letter.

Murtagh made a notion to pluck it from her shaking hand. He blinked in surprise when she did not object as she always did. Truthfully, he had not read the letter himself.

"You knew this would happen," cried Nasuada. "You knew."

"How the bloody hell would I know something like _that,_ Nas?"

Nasuada's eyes were like daggers in the darkness. "Have you even read what you are holding yet?"

He shook his head.

"Well, what are you waiting for then?"

Murtagh nervously gazed down at the parchment. He recalled first seeing it attached to the stick impaling the doorman. Now that he was reading it for the first time, he couldn't believe how small the message was. His name was written hastily on the top, and beneath it were two words:

_AJ's next._

* * *

A day passed and the prince was still missing. As days wove into a week, civilians began asking why they had not seen a ebony-skinned boy rummaging through the stalls in the market as usual. Murtagh and all the others who were aware what truly happened to AJ, simply laughed falsely and would say, "He was caught drinking at Murtagh's birthday, and now he's grounded for the month." As a typical response, the civilians would mutter something about Morzan, and Murtagh would assure AJ would be another Ajihad, _not _a drunken Morzan. He was nothing like his father's father.

Murtagh waltzed to the war room. The long table he had seen in his dream was still littered with dirty scrolls. He had assembled his advisors for yet another "important discussion" as he called it. Since AJ's disappearance, he had demanded many of those.

He sighed and met eyes with each advisor. "Men," he finally said slowly. "There is a traitor amongst us."

Each advisor exchanged suspicious and untrusting glances with there neighbor. "…What makes you say this, your majesty?" said Jormunder worriedly. "Are you feeling all right, sire? You have had a long week."

"Yes, I'm fine," Murtagh sniffed. He knew they partially blamed him for his son's vanishing act; if he hadn't been so drunk, the rebels would not have attempted -successfully- to breach the palace. "Mentally, at least. So if you think I have cracked, I assure you, I have logic behind my accusation. How could the rebel band have known I would be at Morzan's castle last week?" It was only last week? It seemed so long ago… He held up the parchment containing the note and told them all that had happened while he visited his birth home. His advisors gasped.

"Sire!" exclaimed a dwarf off to his left. "Why did you not tell us this before!"

Murtagh gave him a hard glare that held a hidden misery. "I've had a _long week_." As his advisors shifted uncomfortably at his words, he continued saying, "Plus, how could they have known my birthday was the _perfect_ time to strike? They have been tracking our movements, gentlemen, and that means one thing; _we have a traitor._ Now, I myself am not the most loyal person alive, so if you come forth it will spare you much humiliation and pain. I shall have some mercy on you if you speak up _now._ If you don't the typical public humiliation will be in order."

None of the advisors moved.

Murtagh clenched his fist. "Very well. I expect to see all of you here tomorrow morning at daybreak. I'm afraid I'll have to raid each of your minds."

The advisors all cursed the traitor under their breath. "Blast it!" cried an elf to his right, "One treacherous coward will cause us all pain!"

"I am sorry, Vanir," cried the king. "But you know it's necessary, and if all of you prove loyal we'll have to go around raiding the rest of the palace hand's minds. Everyone who has stepped foot into my home in the past month will have to be probed until we find the traitor."

The men and women around him nodded dutifully, all agonizingly aware that they would have no time to spend with their families until Murtagh was proven correct, and they discovered a traitor.

"You are dismissed. And don't forget, you are to be in this room daybreak tomorrow."

The men and women filed out, all muttering curses or brooding to themselves silently or speaking assuring words to their king. Once everyone exited, Jormunder was the last left. He turned to his king and bowed. "Your Highness, I-"

"Blast it, call me Murtagh. That is the name my mother gave me and I intend to use it."

"Forgive me, Your Highness."

Murtagh sighed. Eleven years and these people still couldn't get his name right? Murtagh. _Just _Murtagh. "It is quite all right. Pray, what have you to speak to me of?"

"Simply to inquire after your lovely wife, sire. How is she fairing? It is quite odd for her to not be at the meetings."

Murtagh ran his fingers through his medium brown hair. "She has been rather ill, Jormunder. AJ's disappearance has took a toll on her mental health."

Jormunder's features clouded with concern. "I pray she returns to full health, sire."

"Thank-You." Murtagh smiled sadly and placed a firm hand on Jormunder's shoulder. "You have been a good friend and a wise advisor. I cannot repay you for all you have done for me through the years. I shall let Nasuada know you wish she gets well."

Jormunder grinned at the praise. "You're gratitude is appreciated, Murtagh."

The king nodded, and Jormunder left the war room with Murtagh following behind him. Once he had reached the top floor of the palace, Murtagh shut the door to his room, crawled on his bed, and shook his wife, who had been dozing.

Nasuada rubbed her eyes and looked at Murtagh questioningly.

Murtagh shrugged. "Just wanted to know if you were still living or if you have tried to kill yourself yet." When his black humor earned him a hard glare, he related Jormunder's wishes of her welfare.

This caused Nasuada a grim smirk, but it was a smirk nonetheless. Her gaze was far and her thoughts were jumbled. A fat tear leaked from her eye and dripped down her nose, and for the first time Murtagh understood how much she loved her son. She would rather die a slow, torturous death than to outlive him. He stroked her cheek, the love and sadness encircling them and invading their hearts. Murtagh felt his chest tighten as he whispered, "We'll find him. I promise."

"But the problem is," cried Nasuada, her voice cracking, "is will we find him in _time_. You saw the note. 'AJ's next.' He could have died a week ago, Tag. And we wouldn't know until we found his body." Before she realized what was happening, she was hyperventilating.

Murtagh embraced her to the point of suffocation. "We'll find him, Nasuada, and he won't be mangled or d…dead…" He began shaking. "He'll be all right." But even as he spoke, he imagined a scared ten year-old hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, a deep gash across his forehead and a few phalanges missing. He gripped his wife tighter as he shook the thoughts away. "He'll be fine." He touched his cheek- it was tearstained. He didn't even realize he had been crying.

A baby's wailing echoed through the floor. "Rosie," mumbled Nasuada. She made a motion to get up, but Murtagh pushed her back down. "Farica or Geneva will get her. They are allowed up here, after all." Sure enough, Geneva's bustled footsteps entered the baby's room and calmed her down until Rosie was presumably asleep again in her crib.

Murtagh sat up and headed to check on his daughter, practically forcing Nasuada to lay back down with magic. When she alas grudgingly agreed to sleep, Murtagh slunk his head through Rosie's doorway to see Geneva rocking her back and forth in a rocking chair with the toddler snoozing angelically on her shoulder. Geneva smiled at Murtagh tiredly, and Murtagh laughed to himself with his mirthless laugh at how everyone had aged ten years since his birthday.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the clear pitcher on the counter. He stared down at the liquid miserably. The water rippled as a silent tear hit its surface. "Draumr Kopa."

The water flickered for a moment, and an image of a scared ebony-skinned boy hugging himself came into view. _AJ._ Relief flooded the king as he saw his son wasn't mutated in anyway. Leather rope tied around his feet, tearing off the skin and causing his ankle to bleed and the surrounding skin to look raw. A few slashes on the child's right arm and dried blood flowing from his right nostril was all Murtagh could see of his son's injuries. He could have cried in relief. _Thank-You, gods, thank-you._ He was alive and he had all his limbs!

Murtagh returned to his room with the glass of water and showed Nasuada, who thanked her gods her son was still breathing. She eyes his ankles worriedly. Those ropes chafing him will give him blood poisoning! They can't be clean!"

"Shhh," hushed Murtagh. He released the magic showing AJ's timid figure. "We'll find him before he gets blood poisoning, sweet." Whenever he said "sweet" something was wrong in their life, something that put Nasuada in hysterics.

The begs under Nasuada's eyes were unreal; Murtagh could hardly believe how old she looked. The woman looked twice her age she was so exhausted! "Get some rest, Nas, and tomorrow we'll triple the searches. The assassins and soldiers I sent out should arrive at the rebel encampments come two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Nasuada shot out of bed like a bullet from a pistol. "Murtagh, he could be very, very, very dead in two weeks! We need to fly over to the rebel camps ourselves!"

"We will, we will, don't worry. My thoughts exactly. I can't leave, though. I have to probe minds tomorrow in search of a traitor, baby, and I have other things that need to be taken care of such as court this Sunday."

"Bah! Have Jormunder take over open session this Sunday. Cheated farmers can wait until we find the crown prince!"

Murtagh nodded. "I'll see to it." He headed back to the kitchen to dump the water back in the pitcher; he was no longer thirsty.

He needed to find AJ, he would do _anything_ to find his son, but the people did not know he was missing, and if the people didn't know than how could he escape his duties? He needed to talk to someone who wasn't completely hysterical. He had seen Roran occasionally, but he was busy attending his business as a blacksmith and had his own problems, though Katrina visited often to soothe Katrina. Roran just did not know how to comfort his cousin. He was not the comforting type.

He wished Eragon was there with him. Eragon always had a cord of compassion Murtagh could never understand. The boy had a love in his heart for the world and everyone in it much like the elves did. Murtagh never could love like that. He loved his subjects, sure, but never with the compassion of Shadeslayer. Eragon was a true softy, and Murtagh would never be that caring or comforting to people. He needed to talk to his brother.

Still holding the glass of water, Murtagh whispered "Draumr Kopa," while leaning against the counter. He remembered Eragon had once taught him how to speak with the one you were scrying as if they were really there. He muttered the magical words that allowed him to communicate with his brother.

Murtagh couldn't help but allow a small smile on his face when a brooding boy with brown hair like himself but with elf ears and eyes came into view.

* * *

Eragon did not understand. Arya became so irritable over the smallest things! _Elves are all that way, young one, _said a voice in his head.

_I know, Saphira, but I don't understand why they just can't let things go!_

_Yes,_ chuckled his dragon. _Elves and women are indeed alike; we can both hold a grudge. And a woman who is also and elf is bound to have a slight temper._

_Slight?_

Saphira growled threateningly in his head. _She's sad, Eragon. Her best friend has grown sick with an unknown illness._

_Well, it's no excuse to go all up on me about it! I love Trestle as much as the next person, and I care that she has become sick, but she doesn't have to get mad at me._

_She's mad at you because you don't act like you care._ Saphira's words rang in his head. _But nonetheless, I love you. _

_I love you too, Saphira._

_Just wait for her to cool down; she'll get over it._

Eragon nodded and twiddled his thumbs. He teetered on the heel of a chair. His feet were kicked up on the table as he tapped his foot impatiently.

"You always did like to brood."

Eragon froze, his heart caught in his mouth.

That voice.

He stood up and looked around the room warily. "Who is there? Pray, show yourself!"

"I'm not hiding." The voice sounded irritable and so…sad.

"Whoever you are, I don't find this funny! Use you normal voice, I tell you!" The tone was so deep and throaty, just like…no. It couldn't be. He was on the other side of the world! "Who is it? What is your name?" His heart was pounding now.

"Murtagh. It's Murtagh, Eragon, your brother."

"Arya, this is not funny! I am _not_ enjoying your jest! Now show yourself!"

"I'm serious, Eragon. Turn around. I'm behind you." The voice filled the tree like a wild winter's breeze.

Eragon pivoted around half expecting to see Murtagh's ghost lingering behind him. "Where are you!"

"Underneath your nose."

Eragon looked down, and in his bowl of soup he had for supper was the image of a dark haired man with electric blue eyes and a furrowed brown. Amusement tugged at the corners of his thin lips. Eragon couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Murtagh?"

"The one and only." Murtagh's face smiled tiredly, and the bags under his eyes grew larger with the effort.

"Murtagh! Oh, I was just thinking about you earlier! I have missed you so much!" He couldn't express the brotherly love he felt and the longing to visit he had endured. "How is Roran?"

"Fine."

"Nasuada?"

"…Breathing."

"And Katrina?"

"Not as good as Roran but not as bad as Nas."

Eragon frowned. "What is wrong with Nasuada? And what makes you want to scry me all of a sudden?" Truthfully, Eragon had tried to scry his brother on numerous occasions, but every time he did all he received in return was blackness. He never understood how Murtagh could never be scryed.

Murtagh's small grin faded. "She has become ill, Eragon. Very ill… mentally sick, I should say."

Arya entered the tree, apparently in a much better mood than previously. "Good news! Trestle is-" She halted mid-sentence when Eragon beckoned her to come. She gazed down into the soup bowl disbelievingly. "…Murtagh?"

Worry spread across Eragon's face. "I am sorry. What do you mean by mentally sick?"

"Traumatized, I suppose you could call it."

Arya cupped her mouth. "Who has been traumatized?"

"Nasuada," replied both the boys.

"Murtagh…I am truly sorry," she cried.

Murtagh sighed. "I just needed to talk to you guys. I missed you, and…well, I'm a wreck right now. We all are." Before anyone could ask why, he blurt out everything that had happened since his birthday. Before he was finished, his eyes grew red.

Arya buried her face in Eragon's chest. Recovering, she said, "Murtagh, I am so sorry! I remember AJ. He was the cutest baby in all of Alagaesia."

Murtagh shrugged, not really having any desire to speak. "I just scryed you to see if you could give any advice…"

"Murtagh," began Eragon. "No matter how hard you try, the world will always come back and get you sometime. When I say _you,_ I don't mean specifically. Things happen, brother, and they will soon pass. You will find him eventually. I promise you."

"Eragon, may I talk to you alone for a second?"

Eragon motioned to Arya, who looked slightly affronted, but headed to the bedroom anyways. "What?" asked Eragon in a hushed voice.

"Eragon, I don't know how to ask this of you, but…" What was he doing? "If you can, and I understand if you can't… I would like to see you again, Eragon. If it didn't take you long to arrive in the elf land then I was hoping you could come home and visit for a while…"

Eragon was stunned. Did Murtagh just ask him to come home? No, impossible. Angela had predicted he would never return to Alagaesia, and he believed her. But still…

He wanted to go back home so badly. He needed to see his brothers in person, _not_ through scrying. He longed to talk to them face to face. He longed to be with them, not watch them through the water he placed the spell on.

At Eragon's silence, Murtagh nodded. "I understand. It was selfish of me to request such; you have no obligation to come. It's just that…" Tears overflowed, and for the first time in a long time Eragon watched as Murtagh cried. But this was a different cry- he had only seen his brother tear up once before, and it was in such a distant past he did not even recall why.

"Shhh, hush up, Murtagh, it's all right."

Murtagh recollected himself, and, as if it never happened, said stiffly, "We are all so tired, so miserable, so worn out, so anxious, Eragon. I thought that if there was a way, _any _way, that you could get here quickly, then I would at least offer you our hospitality… Though unfortunately my hospitality has run dry in the past week. We need someone who can raise the families - hell, the whole _palace's_ - spirits, and I knew it would be you and Arya. You two always know what to say at the right time. And, well… quite frankly, Eragon, I miss you, and I know I will be unable to find my son without you. And I will do anything to get him back. I need you, Eragon, I need you to help me find my son. I love him. He'll die." He choked on the word _die_.

Eragon stared at his brother with a homesick feeling churning in his stomach, brewed together with the pity he felt for the royal family. He could see it in Murtagh's eyes - the guilt, the misery, the worry, the exhaustion. He appeared so tired it made Eragon anxious for his health, and according to Murtagh Nasuada was ten times worse than him. Eragon didn't even want to _think_ about her mental state at the moment.

As if reading Eragon's mind, Murtagh said feebly, "She cries herself to sleep, Eragon. She has so many emotions stirring in her, one moment she's sobbing, the next she's biting her nails, and the third she chucking expensive vases at me. I have never seen her so nervous. She could keep her calm ruling the Varden and never once did she look nervous, but her baby goes missing and she can hardly breathe. It's terrible watching her. I…I…I have put her on suicide watch, Eragon. I know she won't kill herself, but she needs to be under constant surveillance.

Eragon couldn't believe his ears. _Is this what Arya means when she wants a child? Would Nasuada love her son so much she would rather die than not know where he is?_

_Motherly love, little one,_ said Saphira. _Arya wants to love a child like Nasuada loves AJ._

_It seems unhealthy. _

_That is because AJ has been kidnapped by people out to overthrow your brother._

Eragon shivered. _That is vile, it is. Stealing a son to blackmail his father._

_It is. But it works._

Eragon watched his brother's hopelessness, and he suddenly realized that Murtagh had made this call for one reason. He did not care to pick people's spirits up; Murtagh knew that Eragon as the only one who could help them find the prince, and Murtagh needed all the help he could get. Eragon took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "I will discuss it with Arya. If she says yes, I will grab a map of the world from the village library. It will give me the fastest route to Alagaesia. I am assuming that once we know how to get there from here and vise versa, it should only take a matter of about a week if we ride Saphira."

Murtagh smiled, and Eragon had never seen such a look of relief in his whole life. "I pray to see you in a week then, brother."

Eragon nodded. A look of complete compassion crossed his face. "I will be there, brother. I promise. I shall help you find your son and your heir."

Murtagh gave Eragon the most trustworthy, grateful look he had ever given someone, and Eragon felt that was thanks enough. He bade farewell; Murtagh released the magic ad ended their conversation.

Eragon, knowing Arya heard all of that, swept her in his arms and kissed her cheek. "We're going back to Alagaesia," he whispered in her ear.

"And we will find AJ," responded Arya with her bell voice.

* * *

**A/N: (fingers ache) Gah.** Well I hope that wasn't too boring. It was ten freaking pages, so I hope it makes up for the wait. I'm sorry about the bad quality and all the typos and stuff. Yeah…real sorry.. Lol my stories are all so OOC. XD

**Please review!! **_**The more you review, the quicker I'll update!**_


	5. Back Home

**A/N: **I'm back!! I hope I finish this soon, because I really want to make up for updating once a month lately. :( I jammed my finger, so it's taped, so I apologize for the tons of typos. **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon, and typing it once more won't change that, all right?**

* * *

**Chapter 5- **Back Home

His eyes hurt in the darkness. Where was he? His head throbbed dully, dimming his thoughts and hypnotizing him into a drowsy state. What time was it? What day was it? Minutes melted into hours; hours melted into days; days melted into weeks. He knew not how long he huddled in the pale moonlight, cradling himself and silently crying every now and then, with the only sound protruding from his scared little form was an occasional sob or gasp for air.

They had not harmed him in any way, and for that he was immensely grateful. They fed him regularly three times a day a morsel of stale bread that he chipped a few teeth on, and a single bowl of well water. A small, barred window provided the only light, and each night as the moon's frigid rays reflected on the dust of his dingy cell, AJ would bury his head in his knees and soundlessly weep. It made him feel so little, so unmanly. His father would be ashamed.

Men always watched over his cell, two of them, stomping on the fantasies AJ would have of escaping. They would rotate in and out with a couple of other guards, conversing with each other in low murmurs but never speaking to the prince. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of a spittoon being passed back and forth.

He wanted to go home more anything, to be covered in kisses by his strong mother - and AJ knew by now she was quite possibly a nervous wreck with him missing, - and to be wrestled to the ground by his father. He wanted to see Rosie, to see if she had grown while he was gone. Would she have forgotten him? He shook his head. Of course Rosie wouldn't forget him; he could not have been captive for more than a month!

But… why was he captive? Who had taken him? _Why?_ The only logical conclusion AJ could draw was that someone was trying to blackmail his daddy.

The moonlight continued to pour into his smelly, rotting cell. It illuminated the rough, leathery rope that tied his feet together. He couldn't see his hands; they were forced behind his back with some equally scratchy, flesh-tearing twine. His cheeks were sticky with dried tears, and the spot where his head throb, he knew, was were the mysterious figure in the dark had whapped him on the head with what looked like, for the split second he could see before it made contact with his skull, the hilt of a sword. He assumed he had a large knot there now, underneath the dried blood caking his forehead and right eyebrow.

The moon was all he could see through the window; the cloud coverage was so thick. No stars- that was his favorite thing about Arough; the sky was always so clear and beautiful, he would just lay down in his back yard with Garrow or whatever boy could come over that night and talk and laugh and gaze up at the sea of lights, each flaring into life after the previous star like little gleaming candles.

But in the cell, wherever he was… all he could see was tall, tall trees and the blurry outline of the moon.

The night was so starless it depressed him. The stars made him feel safe, as if he could just stand up and walk back inside his Glass Palace with whoever his companion was that particular evening.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and then another, until his vision swam, and the only noise that filled the cell was his quiet sniffling. _Come and bring me home…_

* * *

_With my past, I have always granted a man a second chance as ruler._

So thought Murtagh as he stared into the eyes of each advisor gathered around the table in the war room. They all had deep, purple bags under their eyes that reminded the king of canoes; it was obvious they had not received a wink of sleep. He hadn't, either. Not only because of his anxiety over his missing child, but because he knew he had along day ahead of him. He spent a majority of the night checking on Nasuada, watching her breathe, making sure she was asleep. The gods knew she needed her rest, and once she passed out she slept so hard Murtagh kept counting her pulse, making sure she was still alive.

He scanned each advisor and directed them into a single file line. "Now," he said, "I highly doubt we'll find a traitor in this small group, so those of you I deem trustworthy enough that can perform magic will help me with my search." Biting his cheek, he stepped parallel to this first man in line and gazed downward, for the creature was a dwarf with a long, scraggly orange beard. Murtagh bent down and firmly gripped the man's forehead. He sighed, and nudged the dwarf's defenses until he lowered the red brick wall protecting his thoughts.

"I'll only need to see all that has happened recently; no childhood memories and frivolous fantasies and whatnot." The men chuckled. Murtagh probed the dwarf's mind, slowly and gently shifting through memories, attempting to avoid causing the dwarf any harm. Alas, Murtagh released his hold and smiled sadly. "You are clean, Gandar."

The dwarf returned the gesture. "Thank'ee, majesty."

Murtagh continued to a young elven woman, Aretta. Her rosy lips were almost as rosy as her cheeks and her hair; her curves were accentuated in the off white dress she wore. Murtagh inwardly chuckled. _How many times has Nasuada kissed me in Aretta's presence?_

_Enough times to burn into your brain that you already attached,_ sneered Thorn, knowing Murtagh's - and every other male advisor that was forced to spend at least an hour a day in the same room with her - attraction to the lady. But his sneer turned to a scowl almost instantly. _Elves are so vain._

_I know, but do not tell any I said so; I may lose my job._

He proceeded to raid her mind as well; he shivered at the outlandishness of her thoughts and brain. No matter how much time he spent with them, he could never fully grasp their way of processing their surroundings, their way of thinking. After several minutes, he pulled away. "You are clean, Aretta." The scent of pine needles wafted in his face, and he repeatedly reminded himself he was married.

He turned now to Jormunder, who stood there in his baggy purple robes, holding his head up, but he bowed as Murtagh lined himself up in front of him. "Sire."

"Jormunder." Jormunder was a close family friend, and Murtagh had to admit that would indeed include him on certain private affairs. He could very well have relayed his knowledge.

Although it pained him, Murtagh placed a frigid hand on his good friends brow and examined his memories. An odd wave of comfort washed through Murtagh when the familiarity of a _human m_ind touched his thoughts. Jormunder's brain was so normal, it eased the shivers he always received whenever he touched an elf mind.

After some time, Murtagh released himself from his friend thoughts. He grinned amusedly. "You think I am haughty?"

"We all are somewhat arrogant, sire," muttered Jormunder in an obviously false apologetic voice. "I just think you have a bit more than most." He smirked.

That was why he was such good companions with the man; Jormunder was one of the few people who didn't let the kings superior rank influence how he acted around him. Jormunder was not an ass-kissing king-pleaser, and Murtagh respected him for that.

Murtagh resumed penetrating each mind until he was weary from the effort. "You have all been proven loyal to me. For that I am grateful." He showed them his appreciation by promising them and their families a grand banquet once his son was discovered - if he ever was. They thanked him, and the non-magical folks began to file out. Those who remained in the war room with Murtagh - Aretta, another elf, and a few humans - were instructed to go search the minds of other magic doers, and those who were deemed trustworthy would help them on their quest. Once all the magicians were probed, if they had not found the traitor yet, than them and the other sorcerers and whatnot would probe the remaining, non-magical minds until all of Arough had been raided or until the king called off the search.

_It is like a scavenger hunt,_ Murtagh could not help but think. _Whoever finds the traitor first wins._

_Today will be long, _sire,thought Thorn. _You have much work to do._

_That I do._ Murtagh sighed and rubbed his temples. He sank into his chair and closed his eyes. He desperately wanted to sleep (they all wanted to sleep,) but he had issues that required his attention. Issues that were no where _near_ as important on the private issues that nibbled away at his thoughts like maggots decomposing a buried body.

* * *

The fire crackled and hissed as burning insects scrambled away from the embers in panic. The critters reminded Eragon of the civilians fleeing from Uru'baen during the Varden's final attack. The day Murtagh murdered Galbatorix.

Eragon and Arya encircled the flames licking the collected wood. A weeks worth of vegetables, fruits, and other vegan foods were laying in a bag by Saphira, who was snoring loudly to the two mates' right, but they were already rotting.

Arya said, "We have been out for two day, and each day we travel AJ is closer to death. We should not be resting tonight. We should keep trekking throughout the night as we did yesterday."

"We need rest, Arya. We are exhausted, and this is the only small patch of island we have found since we left. Besides, Murtagh would alert us if they had found his…his body," replied Eragon. "I know this sounds cruel, but AJ will just have to wait."

They talked of other things that were happening in their lives until Arya whispered, "I imagine he's scared, all alone."

At first Eragon thought she was referring to Murtagh, and a confused expression crossed his face. Then, as he realized she was speaking of AJ, replied, "Yes, I imagine."

"He is but ten, Eragon. I was one hundred when I was imprisoned in Gil'lead, and I was fearful. Do you remember being ten? Being so young? Though we elves have sharp memories, I am sorry to say I do not remember my childhood. It was long ago."

"Yes, I remember," said Eragon. "But only a little. I recall milking the cow and feeding the chickens and tilling my uncle's land, but that is the extent of my memory. Nothing amazing happened at that age."

"AJ will not forget this; it may dim in his memory, but he will never forget, despite his age. I will never forget my time with Durza."

"I shall never forget when I rescued you, or my imprisonment at Durza's hands, as well." After a second of staring mesmerized at the dancing flames, he muttered, "And I imagine Murtagh shall never forget his time as a slave."

"Nor will any other slave, for that. Slavery is not something you forget; it is a separate type of imprisonment in itself, but imprisonment nonetheless."

"Aye." A slump in the conversation ensued. Alas, Eragon stood up. "I am headed for bed."

Arya stood up too, and they embraced each other lovingly and kissed. "Pleasant dreams," muttered the lady, and Eragon returned with the same wishes on her behalf. He always found it absurd how they said that to each other, seeing as elves truthfully did not "dream."

They laid down and stared at the sky until daybreak.

* * *

Eragon's butt ached. Arya sat behind him, wearing pants so she would not have to fly for a week side saddle. Her arms hugged Eragon tightly as she stared at the sea thousands of feet below her, her black mane trailing behind her in the wind.

They had been flying nonstop for three days, and finally their effort had paid off: in the hazy distance lay the sight of land, and a structure the size of a dot stood erected. _The glass palace,_ thought Eragon. _Saphira! We've arrived!_

_Indeed,_ replied Saphira, amused. _I am grateful you said so, for I would have never assumed it was Alagaesia we are gazing at._

Alagaesia.

"We are home," said Eragon, smiling to himself in exhilaration. "We're home, Arya! Alagaesia!"

Arya smiled angelically, her white teeth gleaming in the sunshine. "Thank goodness. I was beginning to think we would be lost at sea."

_Alagaesia._ Angela had been wrong; he _did_ return to his native country.

_Be careful, young one, _warned Saphira. _She may not have been talking of when you left last time. You could visit Alagaesia twenty times, but if you do not settle down, then you never truly returned._

_That makes no sense, _hissed the rider. _Are you saying that if I move to Alalea, thus abandoning Alagaesia, but I come to visit, I never truly returned, for I will just turn around and leave again?_

_Exactly._

_You know, you are honestly a very pessimistic dragon._

_Perhaps I am brooding over the notion that we will leave again._ She sighed. _Eragon… _Her thoughts washed over their bond.

_Thorn._ Guilt swept Eragon. Thorn, her mate. She was unsure how to greet him after disappearing for six years… while being pregnant. _Not to worry, Saphira,_ soothed Eragon. _All will be well._

Saphira mentally nodded. _All will be well._

* * *

**A/N: **(sigh) Well that was boring, lol. Yeah, yeah, filler-ified. I'm notorious for those, aren't I? Which is somewhat funny, because just last chapter I was ranting about how much I hate fillers… Shame, shame.

**You know what to do; hit the purple button and… well, you know. :P**


	6. The Journey Starts

**A/N:** Hey, I'm back! And I'm totally sorry that I haven't updated in a while; one, I feel a writer's block on the brink, and two, they've been giving me three hours of homework each night, no breaks. I'm not exaggerating. And I have a HUGE project due soon, and that's been eating away at my schedule. OH, and I forgot to mention in earlier chapters I got the idea of everyone taking Murtagh's words literally from the book Ranger's Apprentice by John Flanagan, which **I don't own!** So, yes, I was sadly not brilliant enough to come up with that… **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle**

**Chapter 6- The Journey Starts**

* * *

"Well I'll be damned," murmured Jormunder. He was erected to the king's right side, while Murtagh slouched in his throne moodily. Six hours of open session when he should be searching for his son! Luckily, he had every magician within five leagues being interrogated and interrogating others.

"What?" questioned Murtagh half heartedly.

"The horizon, sire," whispered Jormunder as a grumpy farmer entered the throne room.

"What of the horizon?" Murtagh squinted, and sure enough a blue speck steadily grew larger and larger.

The farmer kneeled to Murtagh. "You ma'jestee," he cried in a pained voice. "A man stole twelve uf me pigs, slaughtered me chickens, and rode off on me prized-"

Murtagh held up his arm, silencing the man. He snapped his fingers. "Jormunder, take care of this man. I must attend to our unexpected…visitors." Jormunder nodded, staring intently at the sapphire blob in the distance; Murtagh exited the throne room, walking through several equally over-sunlit rooms until he pushed open the castles front doors. By the time he had arrived to the Dragon Hold, he was running. _Thorn! Come and see this! Bring Valeo!_

Charging out of the Dragon Hold, Thorn bent his head low in what appeared to be a bow and scooped Murtagh up like a shovel scooped up dirt. Murtagh muttered a spell and gently soared to his typical spot upon his dragon's back. Valeo glided smoothly behind them, a glittering emerald in the air.

A voice other than Thorn's, though not unfamiliar, touched Murtagh's mind. _Could it possibly be Saphira?_ Valeo. But why was Valeo contacting _Murtagh _and not Thorn? In response, Murtagh felt a wave of anxiety, dread, and skeptic crash through his bond with Thorn.

Comprehension dawned on Murtagh. _Thorn does not know how to feel!_ Mentally he cried, _Thorn, don't worry, all right? Everything with fit perfectly._

Thorn huffed a little; smoke streamed out of his flared nostrils for a split second, and Murtagh could have sworn Valeo flinched nervously.

The blob grew clearer with every passing second until Murtagh could make out the details of the blue creature's shimmering scales and two exhausted figures riding her. Now Murtagh's heart rate matched that of Thorn's. _Eragon?_ Hurt, disbelief, and anxiety welled within him along with a torrent of emotions. His brother was here… He came back. After six years.

* * *

Nasuada stared at the duo before her dumbfounded. She blinked slowly once, twice, three times, and finally four before she said, "Am I dreaming?"

Murtagh chuckled, an unusual hopeful glint in his eye. "No, Nas. You are awake."

Eragon and Arya smiled while fidgeting awkwardly beside each other. They looked at Nasuada for a moment, but after a while the disbelief etched on her face caused them discomfort and a small sense of shame. Why could they have left on such a whim and not come back for six years?

After a few moments, Nasuada gripped what she was seeing. "Arya! Eragon! How lovely to see you for so long!" The worried expressions on the indicated couples face morphed into pure relief. Nasuada embraced them in an I'm-your-bloody-sister-I've-bloody-missed-you-for-the-past-half-bloody-decade way. Once the hugs were distributed, Nasuada asked them, "Tell me, how have you been fairing? What has brought you so impulsively back to Alagaesia? No offense meant, I assure you."

"None taken," replied Eragon sweetly. "Actually, our return was not so impulsively. He-" He jerked a thumb towards Murtagh, "communicated to me your current issues via magic." He frowned sympathetically. "I truly am sorry about Ajihad. He was a cute little thing."

Nasuada stared at her feet, concentrating on holding back the tears. Murtagh's lips tugged upwards appreciatively. "He is not so little anymore; he is but ten."

"Ten!" exclaimed Arya. "How the years fly. I imagine Roran and Katrina are graying?"

"Sadly," answered the king. Then, after a second of silence he said, "I have a daughter now. Rosie. She is two." Seeing Nasuada playing with the dirt beneath her shoes, he instantly knew what was running through her mind and wrapped his arms around her, but his gaze never left his guests. Still smiling, he said, "You are always welcome to stay with us, you know; I am afraid our palace is not quite private, but we do have walled rooms if you do not want to dress in the morning before the whole world."

Eragon chuckled. "I would love to accept your hospitality, bother. Thank-You."

Murtagh nodded and drew his attention to Nasuada. He mumbled something in her ear, she just barely nodded, and the two made their way to the Glass Palace entrance. Murtagh motioned for Eragon and Arya to come along; the two followed suit.

The next few hours were filled with catching up, flabbergasted expressions, and palace workers proclaiming how honored they were to be in the Great Shadeslayer's presence. Eragon and Arya greeted them all accordingly; the men, as accustomed, stared at Arya in awe as the younger maids giggled when Eragon waved to them.

Murtagh led them to their chamber, which was one of the few areas in the palace that had semi-decent privacy. The layout was much like the master chamber, except relatively smaller and less homey. Light blue drapes decorated the room, much like Murtagh's curtains did; the bed was covered with a dark blue sheet that matched the drapes quite well. A bookshelf and chair plopped in opposite corners of the room, while a wooden nightstand stood by the bed. "I know it is not rather suitable, but I am afraid it is all we have to accommodate you at the moment."

"It's lovely, Murtagh," said Arya politely. "It will suit us fine. Pray, how long do you think finding the prince-" her eyes flickered to see Nasuada's reaction, "- will take? Not to sound hasty, I am merely curious."

Murtagh went back to hugging Nasuada, but this time not comfortingly, merely to let her know he cares about finding their son. "Now that Eragon is here, I suppose it will take one to two weeks, but I do not know entirely. It should not take long to travel to the Spine on dragon back, but that is not what I'm concerned with; the problem we face with is, _which _camp is AJ located? So far, we have six known camps we are aware of, and-"

His words were instantly cut off as the earth thundered below them. The ground shook with the multitude of an angry god; in the hallway, vases could be seen crashing to the floor, –but not heard, for the rumbling was far too loud- maids screamed as if the apocalypse had arrived, and a deafening _**BOOM!**_ filled their ears.

Arya's head darted, searching for the source, but she was pulled into Eragon's arms as Murtagh screamed, "_GET DOWN!"_

Murtagh clutched Nasuada and tugged her down to the floor. He closed his eyes. _Please, oh, please, make this ear bleeding rumble cease and return the floor to normal!_ Then, after a matter of about fifteen seconds, the earth stilled as if nothing had ever happened. Once their brains were back in their noggins, Murtagh, Nasuada, Eragon, and Arya all drunkenly stood up, clutching their skulls.

"What was that?" barked Nasuada.

"I don't know," said Murtagh, his eyes finally seeing one wife instead of two. He warily stepped to the window, as if he feared making too sudden a movement would upset the floor again. He peered through the glass to see the Market in chaos; the stalls' contents were smashed, broken, and shattered all across the market as people hurriedly cleaned the merchandise up and mothers hugged their children.

A few minutes later, Jormunder appeared in the doorway, completely out of breath. "You majesty! We have been searching all over for you! How is everyone?"

"Fine," said Murtagh. "No need to worry… but what was that?"

Jormunder shrugged. "I know not, sir. Perhaps it is a sign?"

"Peculiar…" thought Arya aloud. "A sign of what?"

"That I do not know, but it must be a sign of something." Steadying himself and checking over the three humans and elf again, Jormunder addressed Murtagh. "When will you be leaving, sire?"

"Tomor-."

"Today."

Everyone looked at Arya, for it was her that spoke. "We will leave today," she said again. "AJ cannot wait forever, and the longer we linger the less time he has to live." She looked at Murtagh. "Or do you not care of your son's fate?"

Murtagh appeared taken aback. "Of course I care; he is not only my first born, but my only son. We love him deeply. Why would-" _Hush, _scolded Thorn. Murtagh hushed.

"I completely agree," said Nasuada, a dull ache in her chest belonging to her son. "We just thought you may desire a day of rest before we travel dragon back for the gods know how long, but if you do not wish to stay in the room we have offered you that is fine. But pray, what made you change your mind? You seemed more than happy to stay in the guest room and recuperate."

"We do not mean any offense to you or your hospitality, Nasuada," said Eragon. "We would love to stay, if it is all right with you, _after_ we find the prince."

"Of course," said Murtagh and Nasuada harmoniously.

* * *

_Thorn, I'm sorry,_ said the feminine voice of the sapphire dragon he knew so well.

_Why did you have to leave?_

…_I do not know. I am truly sorry. Eragon was anxious to depart to the elf land; he wanted to explore and meet more people who understood his love for all surrounding life. He wanted to wait so Murtagh could guard the egg, but I could not bear the knowledge of not knowing which riders my hatchlings were destined for. I reasoned you could raise one, and I could raise the other. _

…_I understand._

_Thorn?_

_I said I understand._ He looked over to see Valeo sleeping, smoke protruding from his nostrils every time he exhaled. _Wake up! We are leaving soon._

Valeo's throat vibrated, and a growl echoed in the Dragon's Hold. _But they just arrived a few hours ago!_

_I know we did,_ replied Saphira. _But they are all anxious to find the prince. Particularly Nasuada._

Valeo hissed in agreement. _I cannot think clearly; every thought that passes through her head the past week has been of the hatchling. She is… very worried._

_So is Murtagh,_ though Thorn. _He has been growing increasingly frustrated with his daily duties that he claims he _has_ to attend, but none of them are as important to him as Ajihad._

The three dragons filtered out of the hold and waited patiently as they watched their riders rush down the spiraling steps through the gleaming glass of the palace. Upon exiting the castle, Thorn's rider sighed, rubbed his head, and unrolled the map he was grasping. "I think," he said "We should raid Bullridge first, because they are the closest. What say you?"

The other three murmured in agreement.

"Very well, then. We leave for Bullridge." The king snapped his fingers.

Thorn mentally nudged his rider. _Have you made sure all of your typical activities are being carried out by others?_

_Yes._

_Excellent._ Thorn pulled back his lips, revealing banana-long, sharp teeth. Murtagh smirked, knowing this was his dragon's way of grinning.

Valeo was as antsy as a toddler; Nasuada kicked her heel against her emerald dragon's scales. The two seemed like a perfect pair: both were anxious and impatient to be off. "We must leave."

_We will,_ projected Saphira to their clan. _Once everyone is strapped in and comfortable, we will leave. _Her words rang true, and the three dragons one by one charged and kicked off their powerful hind legs, rising in the air. A few civilians could be seen gazing up at them. The market was still in ruins.

Murtagh inhaled slowly and leaned forward, gripping one of Thorn's large ivory spikes that grew from the nape of his neck. _Do you think we'll find him in time…?_ The question was dull, emotionless, but it hid a fretful passion in their depths.

…_I don't know. I certainly hope so, young one._

Murtagh looked to his right to see Nasuada in a pair of tan breeches. Normally, it made him chortle to see his wife in men clothing, but today nothing but a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. To his left was Arya and Eragon in their loose, warm travelling cloaks. Arya's raven hair billowed behind her like grass swaying in the wind while Eragon was in the saddle, lost in thought with Saphira. His warm brown eyes were hidden in the hardened shell he always wore before battle.

That was when it occurred to Murtagh what he was about to do: he was heading into an enemy camp, something he had not done for about a decade.

Enter, raid, kill, rescue.

Something out of a storyteller's imagination. _Again._

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I'm happy to say the next chapter won't be a filler! And the earthquake was totally random and just...space, but I was boring myself to tears typing this up, so I decided I'd just randomly kill the market!!! **MUAHAHAHAHA!!!!** No, actually, I'm totally sorry this was, like, exactly like last chapter. The next chapter should be somewhat violent… Anywho, _please review!!!_ And if you have any ideas of things that could happen (like someone gets bombed) please let me know! I'm thinking this story will only be like 19ish chapters, so… yes. **Please review! Criticism for this obviously rushed filler welcome!!!**


	7. Tunnels

**A/N: **Hey, I'm back! And hopefully this won't be too boring. Guess what? **IT'S NOT A FILLER!!!! YAY!!!!** Okay, so here it is! I'm sorry it took so long; I had a major homework month. I tried hard to get this posted, but days wove into weeks, and before I knew it, a month had passed. Sorry! I'm thinking the beginning will be very boring, so I'm sorry about that… This was suppose to be up a long time ago, but my internet like... went all whack. ANd yeah...it's a lot more boring than it was originally planned to be.

Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon

* * *

Chapter 7- Tunnels

It was dark. So, so dark, that Nasuada felt her eyes throb in time with her head. _Focus._ _Valeo, how long have we been down here in this rat hole?_

_A lengthy amount of time, young one, _was the dragon's response. His mind touched hers and tried to ease the pulsating beat. _Calm down._

_I'll try,_ she huffed. She clasped onto Arya's upper arm previously to lessen the chances of her stumbling and breaking her neck in the blackness; she assumed Eragon and Murtagh were doing the same, Murtagh gripping Eragon. The ground was damp and hard beneath her. Oh, how her feet ached! _Drip, drip, drip_ echoed in the thin tunnel; at least, she imagined it skinny. In truth, she could not see two inches in front of her it was so black.

"How much longer," muttered Murtagh's voice a few yards in front of hers.

"I don't know, brother. I'm estimating another ten minutes. We have been walking for hours through these tunnels. Even with my enhanced senses I am partially blind in this darkness."

"I bet," said Murtagh, and Nasuada could not help silently snickering at his at-least-you-can-see-a-little-bit-unlike-some-people tone of voice.

"Watch your mouth, Murtagh! Or do you forget we are here for you and your son?" snapped Arya.

Murtagh did not speak, but he did not apologize either. _How like Tag,_ Nasuada thought irritably.

Eragon and Arya halted, thus causing Murtagh and Nasuada to clip their heels at the sudden movement.

"What?" asked the humans in unison.

Eragon's voice drifted back to her, only it was remarkably more hushed than earlier. "There is an opening about three hundred yards from here. Get up against the wall. Quick!"

Arya hastily shoved Nasuada to the left, her rushed manner causing her sister to slam against the cold side of the tunnel. The dark-skinned rider felt the skin tingle where Arya pushed her. _That'll bruise,_ she said, massaging her ribcage. _Arya is very strong, but it surprises me that she sometimes forgets it._

After a moment, Eragon demanded everyone outstretch their minds to their surroundings to search for dangerous creatures and humans. Nasuada obliged; the channel was as empty, cold, and lifeless as it had been for the past few hours. Once they were positive no one was guarding the exit, they continued walking until, alas, they escaped the tunnels unbearable sightlessness into a slightly less dim area. Nasuada could instinctively feel the claustrophobic atmosphere lift off her shoulders. Silence engulfed the group for a schism of a second. They listened to the constant dipping of the unknown liquid and felt the dank air press against their skin.

It was luck they found the first tunnel; secret channels strewn through all of Alagaesia, and for the first time Nasuada was ever aware of, Murtagh was overjoyed that he was Galbatorix's former right hand man. If not for Galbatorix, Murtagh would never have been sent on missions through the passageways Galbatorix's men had constructed.

"Brisingr," whispered Murtagh, and a ball of blood red fire emitted from his hand. The flames illuminated the area they stood in as they danced a few inches above Murtagh's icy palm. The area, which they eventually concluded was a chamber, had thick boulders surrounding its perimeter, the tunnel in which they entered from, and two other additional passageways to their left. The annoying _drip, drip, drip_ was leaking from the ceiling; just by gazing and sniffing its stench, Nasuada assumed it was water.

Eragon growled at his brother. "What are you doing? I thought we agreed no magic so we could save our strength. You allowed us to lead you with our keen eyesight."

"I know," said Murtagh. "But I'm willing to give up a small portion of energy to rest my eyes. I know not of elves, but I know humans are not strong enough to see without the proper lighting. Besides, now that I'm not holding onto your shoulder we can move along quicker."

"We should have brought a torch," mumbled Arya. Everyone agreed.

They stared at the two passageways, wondering the consequences of proceeding down the wrong tunnel. "Which way," Nasuada repeated.

"Is it not obvious?" responded the elf woman. "Both, of course. We must split."

Murtagh nodded. "I'm never one for dividing forces, but in order to completely raid this place, we must search each. If my memory is correct, they both connect about 3 miles west from here, which is convenient if AJ is not at Bullridge."

"Aye," said Eragon. "It _is_ reasonable. We must separate. I think it would be wise if I go with either Nasuada or Murtagh. Arya, you agree?"

Arya tapped her chin. "Yes, it makes sense. One elf per tunnel." She turned to Nasuada and Murtagh. "Do you think this wise?"

Without glancing at one another, both Nasuada and Murtagh nodded. "Yes," said Murtagh. "It makes sense. You have a more acute hearing and sight in this darkness. I'll stick with Arya."

"My thoughts exactly," replied Arya, who was the only pure elf there. "Nasuada will go with Eragon." She kissed her lover and wished him good luck. "We must hurry."

Once again, all nodded and, once Nasuada and Murtagh embraced, and Eragon flared another fireball into life, Nasuada and Eragon entered the left tunnel as Arya and Murtagh entered the right.

* * *

Walking down the tunnel seemed to take weeks, but eventually Murtagh agreed to allow Arya to run ahead. She dashed away from him faster than a dragon gliding. After ten minutes had passed and she still had not returned, Murtagh began to jog. The jog developed into a sprint as the blackness started to drive him mad. _I need to get out of here,_ he cried to himself. _I need to get out!_ It looked so much like the tunnels he would stalk through in the dungeons of Uru'baen. It was stressful and frustrating; when would he see anything other than endless passage?

A few minutes later, a sharp right turn was illuminated in the faint fire. Murtagh pivoted, planning on talking a right, when he felt his feet freeze to the floor. He tugged, but his heels were glued to the ground. The fireball extinguished; he felt his whole body freeze in place. He felt like a stone statue. No matter how much he willed his muscles to move, they would not. "_Arya!_" he screamed, his voice cracking due to the dryness in his throat. "_Arya!_" He squirmed, but to no avail. "Arya! We aren't alone! Arya! Help!" Where was she? _"__**Arya!**__"_

A man in black robes and a gaunt face appeared from within the darkness of the tunnel. His hair was black but graying; his face was as white as milk. He grinned a toothy grin, amused at the king's helplessness. "You know," he said, "you really aren't much of a threat without your dragon." He snapped his fingers, and Murtagh felt a scorching agony course through his hips and lower abdomen, like someone had taken a white hot metal bar and wrapped it around his torso.

Murtagh bit back a scream, his lip bleeding from the effort. Finally, he cried out, "Where is Arya?"

The man gave Murtagh an expression of mock offense. "Who said anything about _us_ touching her? No, the boss went after here. He thought he was the only one who would be able to take her on. As a matter of fact," the magician said slowly, "He believed we wouldn't be able to handle you! But I managed to immobilize you with just muttering a simple, two word incantation." He smirked.

"Wait…" Murtagh blinked. "…_we?_"  
"Ah, yes, _we,_" spoke the magician. "I forgot to tell you; we aren't alone." He clapped his hands, and three more magicians, two men and a woman, instantly encircled them. When Murtagh just stared, the rage becoming more and more definite on his face, the lead magician mumbled something.

Murtagh could not help it this time; he yelled until his voice grew hoarse. The pain was terrible! He had suffered much, much worse, but never in such a distinct area. Usually with Galbatorix's torture sessions, the pain was everywhere, but this was just in his lower abdomen. It felt as if someone had driven a knife through his belly button!

Whoever this man was, he had been trained by an expert torturer.

The magic prevented him from staggering. He remained standing, almost thankful that the magic was supporting him. _Thorn! _he thought. _I think they have Arya! _

Even in his mind, Thorn was roaring, not only for the agony Murtagh was experiencing but the disappearance of Arya.

Murtagh was growing more and more outraged by the moment. As the magicians sneered and sneered, he felt the old emotion of the deepest, most sinister hate well up in him. This hate was consuming; it was the way he always felt around Galbatorix. His blood pumped and his heart pounded double time, until he could control himself no longer. With an strangely calm face, he whispered:

"Thrysta."

All the magicians flew thirty feet back; one of the men cracked his neck, the woman broke a leg, the other man was out cold, and the leader smashed his skull against the tunnel's wall with such force it was bleeding profusely. The force binding Murtagh instantly ceased, and Murtagh swiftly walked over to the leader, bent down to where he was cradling his head injury, and picked him up by his robes. The leader gripped his bleeding forehead, and Murtagh could tell by the way his eyes were in and out of focus that he wouldn't be conscious for long.

"Now," said Murtagh firmly. "Where is Arya?"

"I don't know!" cried the man, fear etching his blood-smeared features. When Murtagh's hands steady crawled to his neck, he wailed, "I don't know! The master went after her!"

After a thoughtful second in with the only thing audible was the irritable _drip, drip,_ of the liquid and the magician's heavy breathing, Murtagh said, "Who is your master?"

"Is it not obvious?" chuckled the lead magician. "I think you two have met before."

"I can't say we have. Maybe if you tell me his name-"

"Oh, come now! Must you really go through all this _talk,_ traitor? The rightful king! He is our leader!"

Murtagh smirked. "And what king would this be, swine?"

The leader, the fear on his face now replaced by pride, simply smiled sanguinely. "You know him, traitor. You've met."

Murtagh couldn't believe his ears. "Are you speaking of Galbatorix? You are fighting for a deceased demon! He has been dead for years, and he's not coming back! I would feel him if he were alive; I would know he survived!"

Before the leader could respond, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, he close his eyes, and passed out.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this was nothing like how it was suppose to come out. I am suffering from severe writer's block; this was meant to be at Bullridge and not just the tunnels below Bullridge, but I'm one, insanely busy, and two, insanely lazy. I'm sorry if this update was a total disappointment! It was SUPPOSE to be very action packed and whatnot, but I just don't have time to write. You saw how long it took me to update! 5 freaking weeks. I have little time! I'm sorry! I am trying though, really, I am. I promise. : (

Please review if this wasn't too big of a disappointment.


	8. Delilah

**A/N: I'm back!** Yes well, compared to usual, I really didn't get many reviews, so I'm assuming people have probably given up on this story. I think that's okay, I guess, seeing as I probably would have given up on it, too. Yes, I know, it's insanely boring. I find sequels rather boring myself. I'm trying REALLY hard to get this updated ASAP so I can finish it and start something new.

**OMG! Is anyone else insanely annoyed with all the MurtaghOC stories in the past few months?** It's driving me crazy! I was considering writing one, too, but no way in heck that's gonna happen now! I think I'm gonna stick with one shots. :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed and is still sticking with this story!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

* * *

Chapter 8- Delilah

"Owe!" snapped Eragon.

Nasuada growled. "Suck it up, Shadeslayer," she hissed. She continued inspecting the gaping head wound on his left temple. She tsked. "Does not look very promising, I admit. _Waise heil." _The injury instantly patched itself up in flash of itchiness. Eragon scratched his head, collecting blood, both dried and still fresh, under his fingernails. The whole side of his head was coated red, including his eyelashes.

Nasuada muttered a few words in the ancient language, and the crimson substance wiped itself clean of Eragon's angular face.

"Thank-You," said Eragon. Nasuada nodded in return.

It was dark outside; stars were hidden beneath impenetrable cloud coverage, which also concealed the moon. All that was left of the lunar sphere was a faint, blurry outline. It was, for this reason, why Nasuada and Eragon were concerned about their companions' whereabouts. They never met up at the end of the tunnels as they promised. While they were performing their vanishing act, Nasuada and Eragon destroyed the headquarters at Bullridge to the point of no return. Eragon felt a deep guilt killing so many guards and men, their bodies strewn across the floor like an overturned haystack; was the bloodshed not over? Why were their still men protesting Nasuada's cause? It had been eleven bloody years; the war had ended! And here they were, committing more slaughter all because of Galbatorix.

_Galbatorix…_Eragon clenched his fists. The men, the dozens of men they killed, were good men. Eragon could see into their hearts; they didn't want any of this. So why were they partaking in such rebellions? It didn't add up. There must have been an outside force, something _making _them work for Galbatorix.

Some_thing._ Or maybe some_one._

He was aroused from his thoughts as a gentle hand rested itself upon his shoulder, illuminated in the firelight. He looked at the hand, expecting to see Arya, instead to see the skin was dark like his sister's. An inner sadness and worry clenched him; they were in trouble. A knot in his stomach tightened to the point he felt like vomiting. Gazing in Nasuada's warm yet equally nervous eyes, he smiled and said, "They'll be here soon."

"I don't know, Eragon," muttered the woman. "It's unlike either to take so long. Unless they're arguing."

"Arya can argues and walk at the same time." He sighed and rubbed his head, thinking of the argument he had with Arya before they left. She wanted a kid? Yeah, he did, too, but he knew by mating with her such things were close to impossible.

Nasuada sat down beside Eragon, and the two watched as smoke billowed high into the air. There was such a massive amount, they could even see the building rise up in flames from three miles away. As the smoke trailed upward, Nasuada thought the sight appeared as if the smoke was contributing to the cloud coverage. She rubbed her legs, anxious to keep them warm in her men clothing. She nearly killed herself when she discovered Murtagh's tunic fit near perfect on her. His shirt kept her warm, however. His scent had been masked in the metallic stench of blood and ash. She could feel the grime collecting around the edges of her face, but wiping her forehead on her shirt did little help.

"Eragon," she blurted suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think the tunnel they were in may have collapsed when we burnt down the building?"

"It's possible, but I think we would be able to tell if they died, no?"

"Perhaps." She shifted her feet, still rubbing herself profusely. No matter how much friction she produced, however, the night still overtook their body heat.

Eragon saw how she shivered and hugged her. "Valeo, Thorn, and Saphira will be here shortly. They have blankets." He rubbed her arm, contributing in her attempt to stay warm.

Nasuada smiled. According to Valeo, Thorn was still alive, which meant there was a ninety-five percent chance Murtagh was. The ruby dragon was near having a fit, however; he had lost contact with his rider some hours ago, but Valeo refused to tell Nasuada why.

Just as Eragon promised, three gliding figures appeared on the horizon. Within minutes, they landed gracefully and encircled their riders. Eragon rushed to Saphira and embraced her leg, while Nasuada followed suit with Valeo. They gingerly pulled two blankets out of some bags attached of Thorn's saddle and covered themselves up, returning to the fire. Nasuada looked at Thorn. "Any news on Murtagh?"

Thorn growled weakly, his eyes miserable. _If I endure another moment of this blackness in our bond, I will go mad and personally kill him myself!_

Nasuada buried her face in her hands, sitting down by the fire again. Tears welded in her eyes, but she shoved them back. _This is not the proper time to cry._

Suddenly, Thorn roared. It was a joyous roar, Nasuada could instantly tell, and her heart sped up.

Eragon was thinking along the same lines when a familiar mind only second to Saphira's touched his. _Come,_ it said. _We are to your right._ Pivoting to the instructed direction, Eragon could see through his keen elf vision two limping shapes, one of a curvaceous woman and the other of a muscled man. "Nasuada! I see them!"

* * *

"Murtagh, you're bleeding!" cried Nasuada as she rushed into Murtagh's arms. She placed a hand on his forehead for a split second before checking the back of his scalp. Blood saturated his whole throat down to the nape of his neck. Nasuada whispered the healing words, and wherever the head injury was, it sewed itself back up almost as if by a needle and thread. Not caring about staining her shirt, Nasuada wrapped her arms around Murtagh's neck and buried her face in his chest. His heart beat against her cheek, and the familiar sense of comfort rushed to her. Murtagh returned the embrace with less enthusiasm; he was too exhausted to make such swift movements.

"Couldn't you wipe your nose?" teased Eragon, the relief still coursing through his veins at seeing his mate alive and breathing, despite the fact a metallic red liquid gushed from her nose, dyeing her tan tunic crimson. Even in the darkness, she glowed with such radiance Eragon couldn't control himself from sweeping her into his arms and snogging her. He grabbed her waist and didn't let go. For a second the four were in the hushed silence, nothing but the wind and the rustling of grass touching their ears, but soon the silence was inevitably cracked.

"What happened to you two?" said Eragon, his chin on Arya's head.

Murtagh explained everything from when they split into separate tunnels to when he demanded answers from the magician; he let Arya take over from there.

Eragon and Nasuada stared at the midnight-haired elf expectantly.

"A man had come to me. He was…unusual, for sure. He had a rebellious air about him, and he garbed himself in dark clothes…. He spoke to me, saying, 'Alas, I have found someone! I have been searching these tunnels for so, so very long.' I gazed at him with false sympathy; he did not appear malnourished in any sort. He asked me if I knew how to escape the maddening blackness of the tunnel, and I replied, 'With a torch.' Then, he asked me if I could perform magic, staring at the ball of fire in my hand. I nodded, and after such an immediate wave of strength crashed against my mental barriers."

The others gazed at her, hanging on her every word.

"I was in such shock he nearly broke through, but in the end I bested him. It took a great deal of strength, however. I smashed my nose against the wall in the process; he also stabbed me with his sword, which I healed – Eragon, I am fine – before you arrived, Murtagh. Not that I didn't harm him. He was probably the most powerful opponent I had faced for some time…."

They blinked at the anticlimactic air of her story. Slowly, Murtagh said, "I assume this was the condensed version?"

"You assume correctly, brother." She exchanged glances with the other three. "But what we truly must concern ourselves with is the identity of this mysterious man Murtagh was told of. Murtagh, relay your conversation again." Murtagh obliged.

"Strange," pondered Eragon. "What could this mean…"

"I do not know," sighed the eldest brother. "Perhaps… Galbatorix discovered a way to stay alive, no?"

Eragon shook his head. "It's possible, but-"

"But we watched him die and be buried," finished Nasuada, still snuggled against Murtagh's chest. Murtagh stroked her hair as Eragon nodded.

"Perhaps," said Arya, "…he has an heir?"

Murtagh snorted. "Galbatorix? It would not surprise me if he had an heir he knew nothing of; for the most part, I'm guessing we are dealing with either a bluff, a shade, or some magician who has convinced himself and a few others he is as powerful as the Black King himself."

They were all lost in their thoughts. Finally, Eragon clapped his hands. "Come! Let us not brood on such things now. Let us be more concerned with the whereabouts of the prince and of sleep's gentle comfort."

"Aye," the other three agreed in unison. They bade each other good night and pleasant dreams; Nasuada and Murtagh crawled beneath Valeo's sturdy, lean emerald wing as Eragon and Arya concealed themselves under Saphira's. Thorn, who had forgiven the sapphire dragon, curled up beside her. They exchanged thoughts and just conversed for hours.

_Saphira…what happened to my second born?_ thought Thorn, pondering the fate of his child. Had he even hatched yet? Was it even a he? His brow furrowed at the thought of never seeing his offspring.

_She is in good hands, Thorn. She has seen my memories of you. She is proud to have you as a father._ She growled. _She finds you rather handsome._

Thorn grumbled, careful to make sure his chuckle did not disturb his master's cozy slumber. _I am sure she is gorgeous. What is her name?_

_Delilah._

Thorn blew smoke from his nostrils. _A two-legged name!_

_I did not choose it. Her rider did._

_Ah._ He inquired about Delilah's rider. Saphira claimed she was pleasant enough, a big dreamer, wanted to see the world. Apparently, Delilah was pleased with her adventurous mind; she hoped it would one day lead her to her father. Saphira transferred images of a beautiful dragon with gleaming royal purple scales. The dark richness of her scales made Thorn purr with pride.

_She is stunning. _Thorn barred his teeth, a habit that came out when he felt a strange pang of sadness . _What would I say to her if we ever met?_

_You will think of something; you always do._

_Yes, I suppose so._

_Do not fret about never being able to see her in person, Thorn,_ thought Saphira. _I know you shall be united one day. I can sense it._

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's it. A little longer than usual but still very short. Sorry about the typosl I'm too lazy to proof. It would have been up earlier if stupid Comcast wasn't being so gay!

I really would like to finish this story, but if I don't figure out a way to make it more interesting and get more readers (dangerously low amount of hits. Gah!) than I probably won't continue. Sorry; I've reread it, and I really don't like it. I'll try to figure out a way to make it better, but I am SERIOUSLY considering deleting it. I do feel terrible because I'm one of those people that can't quite something otherwise it will haunt me for months, but I can't abandon a story. It looks bad. But like I said, I'll try to figure out a way to bring my hits up.

**Please review! **How else will I know if you're reading? No reviews, no update!

Oh, and if you have any one shots ideas for any non-incest or slash pairing, tell me and I'll be happy to write it! I've been wanting to write an Arya/Faolin one shot, but I don't know enough about the pairing or Faolin so…I'm kinda screwed unless someone who likes that pairing would fill me in. Thank-You :) (It feels nice to mix up the writing. There is such thing as Murtagh overload. I love him 'til death, but variety 'tis the spice. :D BUT THERE IS SO MUCH MURTAGHOC GOING AROUND I COULD HURT SOMEONE!)


	9. AN

Hey, everyone. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to finish this story. Actually, I'm dropping fanfiction writing for good. :( I am sorry, really, and please don't flame me for moving on. This stage of my life is over, I'm sorry to say, and I just don't have time. This is another thing to add stress to my life, and I'm done with it. I'm sorry, really. The story was suppose to go as predictied: Murtagh and Nasuada get AJ back and he becomes a dragon rider.

Please don't flame me. I am done with writing off of another's material and I want to write my own stuff. Again, I'm sorry, and if you are just gonna review or PM me with something like, "you suck" than don't. Just forget about me and move on.

Thank-You,

Mrs. Morzansson


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